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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563315">The Bet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralGrace/pseuds/FeralGrace'>FeralGrace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hate to Love, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Love/Hate, Post-War, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, dramione - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:25:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralGrace/pseuds/FeralGrace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From the ashes of the seventh year grew the roses of the eighth, and amongst them, Hermione Granger bloomed the brightest, desperate to prove her worth. </p><p>Her rose entwines with that of a blond boy in an unlikely companionship, until a baneful bet with an old enemy holds a pair of shears to their budding friendship.</p><p>Damn Draco Malfoy, and his Slytherin pride. It’ll be the death of both of them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger, Dramione</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: This is merely a fan’s interpretation of what else could’ve happened within the Harry Potter series! I have no rights to any of the books / movies, the franchise is the work of J.K. Rowling! Hate to break it to you all ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four months. Four short, measly months were all it took for the walls of Hogwarts to stand tall and stable once more, for each and every magical room to be restored and refurbished, for the castle to be filled with the echoing voices of the somewhat friendly ghosts that haunted the school's halls. After standing in mountains of rubble that'd once been whole towers within the castle, it was almost inane to think that in just four month's time, the great hall would be full of gleeful, noisy students - some new, some old - who, for one reason or another, would be overwhelmed by the excitement of being stood within those grand castle walls - whether it be due to returning to normalcy, or kickstarting their life as a practising witch or wizard. Classrooms that'd formerly been unrecognisable would be occupied once again by professors and their eager pupils, as though they'd never been empty.</p><p>It was symbolic, really; a beacon of hope. Every single wizard and witch in Great Britain knew that Hogwarts was in the process of being rebuilt since day 1; in fact, most of them had contributed a large amount of money to the school. Almost all of the magical folk who knew of the building were practically desperate to see it back to its original condition, for there was little happiness in the Scottish Highlands without the presence of the students milling around Hogsmeade on most weekends. Especially since the battle that had taken place just a few months before; a battle which had, unforgettably, resulted in many lives lost. The atmosphere was still tense in both Scotland and its neighbouring countries, for nobody knew what else lurked around the corner. Many towns and areas had been raided by death eaters in attempts to gather new recruits, so the wizarding part of the country still radiated dark energy.</p><p>The people, however, had given up on tending to the wounds of the past, and were focusing on allowing their scars to fade away in their own time. They tried to live out their lives as normal, but they knew that normal was hardly even a thing anymore. Witches and wizards had stopped jumping at the mention of particular names, and they could stroll through the streets more freely now, without screaming in fear when a nearby door opened either too quickly or too slowly. Despite all of this, however, memories of what the world used to be like were still a heavy weight that people had to carry around with them on their shoulders. It was worse for some people - just the smallest words or movements were a constant reminder of the blood spilled and the bones broken in the courtyard that night, and in the rest of the UK beforehand.</p><p>Hermione was, perhaps, having one of the most difficult times of all, though she rarely showed it - and, if she did, nobody was there to see it. Especially since she'd spent three of those four months in Australia, searching for her parents. It'd been a long and exhausting task, but eventually, she'd found them living in a small but cosy home in Queensland. As the ministry had already developed a spell to retrieve a person's memories, the process was quite simple - the aftermath, however, was not. The witch wasn't sure that she'd ever greet another person so tearfully again.</p><p>To her dismay, however, there was little time available to be spent on catching up with her family. The rumors that Hogwarts was soon to be open again had, over time, become facts. And, her being her education-oriented self (a polite way to put it, contrary to the names she was often called due to her profound ambition), going back to school for a repeat of her seventh year was the one thing she looked forward to the most. She'd still be around her parents for a few more days, but after that, they'd be nothing but a few letters per month until Christmas.</p><p>Her Mum and Dad were fine with this. They knew how important education was to her, and they refused to stand in the way of her dreams when they were already well aware of just how many obstacles she'd faced. So, around half-way through the month of August, they felt like they had no choice but to let her go. And, so they did, with the bittersweet reminder that it was temporary this time, at least.</p><p>As perfect as the reunion with her biological family was, Hermione was eager to return to the comforting familiarity of the burrow, her safe place throughout the darkest years of her life. Molly and Arthur possessed a quality that, though she felt guilty for thinking it, her real parents did not: a sense of understanding. Divulging the horrors of the war and the events surrounding it weren't exactly first on her bucket list, considering the fact that becoming accustomed to her magical lifestyle was difficult enough without the added stress of learning that their child had battled some of the darkest wizards and witches of all time, and been tortured on the floor of a mansion for her blood status.</p><p>The Weasleys, on the other hand... for lack of a better way to phrase it, just <i>got</i> it. The girl didn't even have to spill her heart out about the feeling of dread that built up in her gut when she saw a chandelier, having spent her ten minutes of pain staring up at the one in Malfoy Manor. Nor did she have to disclose her night terrors, the sweat positively pouring from her forehead several times a week because she just wasn't strong enough to deal with what she'd witnessed.</p><p>She hadn't even had to explain herself when she had the overwhelming urge to break things off with their youngest son, leaving him utterly crushed. Despite the long days of him moping around their house before retreating to the darkness of his bedroom, they never once laid the blame on Hermione. Their silence was aimed to be comforting, but, in reality, it only intensified her guilt.</p><p>Because, really, it was her fault, since Ron hadn't done a thing wrong. It was what wasn't right that was the matter. Their kiss in the chamber of secrets felt fake, almost staged. There was no audience, but Hermione felt like she'd had to, as if the world was expecting it. Plus, in the heat of the moment, overwhelmed with those countless emotions, it was instinct.</p><p>She had her own theory, of course. Wearing a horcrux for a prolonged amount of time always elicited anger and frustration from the person, so when the pair had stabbed Hufflepuff's cup with the basilisk fang, it had the opposite effect, and instead they felt a surge of love, in all its intensity.</p><p>Apparently, Ron was hardly impacted by these feelings as he'd harboured his own for a while, and whilst Hermione had tried her utmost hardest to reciprocate them, they were unrequited and, in the end, she decided that forcing herself was unhealthy.</p><p>Initially, he seemed to take it well. It went against his very nature but he sat calmly, when she told him, blinking in silence, only piping up every now and then to ask for her to elaborate in her explanation. But, as soon as the words "I hope you can forgive me. I love you, just not in the way you want" had escaped her lips, he'd wordlessly turned on his heel and hidden himself away in his room, maintaining that unspoken vow of silence towards her since that moment.</p><p>It broke her heart to have broken his. Destroying his hopes wasn't exactly at the top of her bucket list after a year of pain and chaos, but it was the better alternative to lying to him and preventing him from finding a witch who he truly suited. Now, that, despite what Ron might think, was the selfish option.</p><p>Because, in spite of what the media conveyed, they really were a match made in hell. Ron was calmer, less serious, and floated through life with no aim other than to probably get a decent job? Hermione, on the other hand, was assertive, driven, and, quite frankly, was beyond desperate to achieve her goals. That one particular pairing had convinced her that opposites did not attract, not in the slightest. Their most passionate conversations consisted of either the redhead insisting that quidditch was "the most important part of society since magic schools became a thing", or Hermione berating him for regarding magical creatures in a derogatory way.</p><p>How Ron had thought they'd live a happy life together, she had no idea. Hopefully, her explanation and his weeks of dwelling on it only improved his standards, because they simply didn't work well together. It was more of a brother-sister relationship, she'd thought.</p><p>So, returning to the burrow after her expedition to Australia (which was another thing she felt guilty about, as she'd spilled the news to Ron and then left the country not two days later) was most likely going to be uncomfortable. She could've skipped it and pretended she was still away right up until the school year began again, but then she'd be missing out on seeing Harry, and Ginny, and Molly and Arthur.</p><p>At least she wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness of being near Ron in school. Harry had owled her to inform her that, aside from Ginny, she would be very much alone in her return to Hogwarts, since re-attending their final year was optional for the older classes anyway.</p><p>As a result of this, Ron had chosen to extend what was meant to be a summer job at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, rather than go back to Hogwarts. This was most likely just so that George would have company, since he wasn't used to being on his own, but Hermione figured that Ron wasn't too keen on going back to school anyway, since he wasn't exactly an ambitious person.</p><p>And, as for Harry, he'd gained a taste for saving the world, apparently, and had been recruited as an Auror-in-training by the ministry. This, he didn't even need to mention in the letter. Hermione had been eager to explore the magic side of Australia, and the news that The Boy Who Lived was training to be an Auror was front page news on every wizarding paper she could see.</p><p>She was proud of her best friend, really, she was, and Ginny was amazing company, but it really wouldn't be the same without him. And Ron, of course, but they were in a particularly rough patch, so with or without Hogwarts, they wouldn't reach normalcy again for a long time.</p><p>Perhaps this was a good thing? Everyone grew up and became distant from their childhood friends, whether they'd fought entire wars with them or not. These were baby steps towards gaining independence, formulating what would soon become her adult life. Perhaps they soon wouldn't have time to blow a ridiculous amount of galleons at Honeyduke's, or just sit and talk for hours in the Hog's Head. They'd have jobs and responsibilities, and maybe a little separation from "The Golden Trio" was a glimpse at what her future would be like. A better alternative to everything suddenly being flipped upside down at graduation, anyway.</p><p>Her internal debate on what the future held for everyone went on right until she reached the Weasleys' doorstep, and her heart sank at the unfamiliar silence that lingered behind the door, contrary to what used to be laughing and light scolding and friendly chatter. Sometimes she forgot that it wasn't just Mr and Mrs Weasley mourning a child. Everyone else there was mourning a brother, or a friend, and they were generally grieving for the simplicity of life before Voldemort rose again.</p><p>Inhaling shakily in preparation, she rapped on the door three times. While she'd once walked right in and made herself at home, a combination of her lone  journey to another continent and the bleakness of a post-war England meant she just wasn't comfortable with waltzing in and pretending everything was normal, because would it ever be, really?</p><p>The door creaked open a tiny bit and the face of Percy Weasley appeared in the cap, his tight expression relaxing when he set his eyes on a familiar face.</p><p>"It's Hermione," he called out over his shoulder as he opened the door wider, and she looked past Percy and saw Bill tuck his wand away. It'd been months, and people were still on edge. Her heart sank further.</p><p>"Hi, err, I probably should've given you some notice bef- <i>oomph</i>." she was interrupted by the comforting embrace of the Weasley matriarch, and as the surprise wore off she leaned into the woman's arms. She'd never let her own mother hear it, but Molly easily gave the best hugs in the world. For a brief few seconds, the pain of seeing such misery in the household was washed away, until the older witch drew back and Hermione couldn't help but notice how pale she was. Though her eyes sparkled with joy at seeing the brunette on her doorstep, the corners of her mouth didn't quite reach them as she smiled.</p><p>"No need to apologise, dear, you know you're always welcome, and this makes a wonderful surprise! Happy to have you home, Hermione." Molly beamed, and the younger witch warmed to hear her describe it as 'home'. It was the closest thing she had to it, now (if you didn't count Hogwarts). Her parents had sold her childhood abode after she'd obliviated them, and she could hardly count their bungalow in Australia as being home, not when it didn't hold a single trace of familiarity.</p><p>"Still, I could've been anyone," she noted with a nervous chuckle, discreetly referring to how tense the atmosphere had been before the family discovered her identity. "I'll make sure to owl ahead, next time."</p><p>"Nonsense," the redhead shook her head profusely, but she left it at that, which only indicated to Hermione that it would save the older woman a lot of stress, but she was simply too stubborn to admit it.</p><p>She followed Molly further into the Burrow towards the kitchen, where the table was seated with most of the Weasley clan and then some, all deep in conversation. That sweet aroma of apple crumble that she'd missed so much filled the air, one that was always present now due to Arthur's newfound love of the muggle dessert. Harry rocked a four-month-old Teddy on his knee as he quietly sang the nursery rhyme "row row row your boat", grinning as the toddler giggled uncontrollably. Catching Hermione's eye, his smile widened, and he carefully passed his godson to Ginny, who'd been having a fiery argument with Charlie about Quidditch.</p><p>"'Mione!" He exclaimed, rushing over to greet the witch with a hug, which caught the attention of the rest of the table.</p><p>"Hi, Harry! Everyone," she nodded her head, biting her lip anxiously. How would everyone else react to her return, anyway? She'd been gone for a good three months, and hadn't exactly given anyone much notice in advance, what with her desperation to escape the tension between Ron and herself.</p><p>To her surprise, though, she was met with a crushing group hug, orchestrated by George himself, who'd lately grown much more affectionate towards the rest of his family, as if to fill the void Fred had left in the house. Giggling as she was deafened with questions from every direction, she made a mildly unsuccessful attempt to kiss each of her assailants on the cheek, until they all eventually pulled away and actually gave her room to speak.</p><p>Whilst they all chattered amongst themselves about how Charlie was excited to tell her about the new breed of dragon and George wanted to test out one of his new joke shop products on Hermione but <i>shh don't tell her</i>, her eyes scanned the group for a specific head of red hair until they met Harry's, who gave her a pained shake of the head.</p><p>"Still?" she asked quietly, though she was almost drowned out anyway by the sudden outburst of conversation.</p><p>"He comes out every couple of hours for a bit, and he seems perfectly fine when he does, but then his face just drops randomly and he goes back upstairs." The raven-haired boy mumbled, and she felt that same pang of guilt that hit her every time she thought of him.</p><p>"But... it's been <i>months</i>."</p><p>"Hermione, for the brightest witch of her age, you really can be so clueless." Harry shook his head. "For almost the entirety of our horcrux hunt, he'd felt something. It wasn't just a spur of the moment thing, for him. He'd been building up to it for ages."</p><p>The brunette gathered that he'd had many conversations with his girlfriend about this, because this seemed more like Ginny's language than his, but she didn't comment on it.</p><p>She didn't say anything else, but just gave him a sad smile as Charlie came over and bet her three whole galleons that she couldn't guess which two dragons they'd cross-bred to create this new form, and <i>Merlin</i> wasn't it a beauty.</p><p>"With all due respect, brother," Ginny butted in, "but I doubt 'Mione will give a brown niffler's ass about your silly flying thing when she learns that I'm being scouted for the Holyhead Harpies." She puffed out her chest with pride and stuck her tongue out at the oldest Weasley sibling when he rolled his eyes.</p><p>"Err, technically Gin, if you're really going to be a chaser then you'll be the second silly flying thing. The only difference is, one of you can breathe fire, so I know which one I'd rather hear about."</p><p>The younger witch's eyes narrowed, and she bit back, "you know what? You're right. Chasers are silly, Charlie dear." And, when he crossed his arms and nodded smugly, she continued. "I might just go down the beater route instead, but mind you, I'm not too experienced in that area, so I wouldn't be too surprised if I accidentally hit that bludger right at your bum."</p><p>The group roared with laughter, and Hermione smiled to herself, thankful for the change in scenery from the either stilted or tearful conversations with her parents. And to think, ten minutes earlier, she'd been worried that her second family were all miserable, still. Clearly a lot had happened in those three months.</p><p>"Oh, Hermione, dear," Molly ushered her over, and the brunette thought, Merlin, this is it, here comes the lecture for destroying her son's heart before leaving without so much as a "toodaloo!" and then coming back with no word of warning. But the smile never left the ginger's face, even when she led Hermione into the living room and handed her an envelope stamped with the Hogwarts emblem.</p><p>"It's for you. I hope you don't mind, but since I already knew of your plans to go back to school, I informed Minerva about it when she came asking. Must've been doing a quick check before she sent out the official letters." Hermione took the envelope with a soft smile and a nod of thanks.</p><p>"Ginevra's came too, but yours is significantly thicker than hers. I assumed, at first, that maybe it's because you're in the year above her and require more supplies, but-"</p><p>"Headmistress McGonagall already notified the student body that both the new and old seventh years would have the same curriculum, and mix in the same classes, so that can't be right!" Hermione exclaimed, and opened her mouth to apologise for her interruption, but Molly seemed to know what she was going to say and waved it away with her hand.</p><p>"Exactly. Arthur and I have been most confused about it." And the girl heard the underlying "please open it in front of me to satiate my curiosity". Despite her older age, she really was one for gossip, and Hermione had to suppress a giggle at her failed attempt at concealing her desperation.</p><p>"Well, feel free to stay here while I read it, I know just as much as you." The older woman clapped her hands in excitement as Hermione slid her finger between the seal of the envelope, and pulled out her supply list, the annual welcome back note, and a new piece of parchment. Deciding to skim read the other two later, she unfurled the third and read aloud:</p><p>
  <i>Dear Miss H.J. Granger,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>We are pleased to inform you that, after careful consideration, you have been selected as Head Girl for the duration of this school year. This duty involves choosing prefects, awarding and deducting house points, and being on the organisation committee for school dances and events, amongst other responsibilities that we shall discuss at a later date.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>We ensure you that this will in no way disrupt your education, and that your duties will be scarce and shall still leave you with plenty of time to study and socialise.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Please go directly to the Heads' carriage (2nd carriage from the front) on the Hogwarts Express when the time to board comes, where I will be willing to listen to any queries, discuss any potential wishes to decline the position, and you will meet the Head Boy, Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>We look forward to your return.</i>
</p><p><i>Yours sincerely,</i><br/>
Minerva McGonagall<br/>
Headmistress </p><p>Both witches blinked in disbelief at the letter, and Hermione must've already read it four times over when Molly erupted with a string of language so foul that it was almost more astonishing than the identity of her fellow Head.</p><p>"Draco bloody- Arthur! Come read this!"</p><p>Her husband shuffled into the living room, a bewildered look already plastered on his face.</p><p>"Mol, did you know this? Muggles have this strange invention called silly putty, and it amuses them for hours on end. Guess what it is! A little squishy blob that makes funny sounds sometimes. That's all it takes! Honestly! Fascinating people." When he saw his wife's dumbfounded expression, he cleared his throat as if he'd said nothing and sat beside her, his eyes widening as if to say oo, so this is that letter Hermione received that we've been wondering about for weeks!</p><p>When he finished, he raised a hand to his forehead and shook his head, a frown appearing on his lips.</p><p>"It astounds me how that boy was allowed back into Hogwarts in the first place, let alone to run it."</p><p>"Maybe it's a mistake," Hermione offered, but her attempt at reassuring the couple was feeble, because McGonagall simply didn't make mistakes.</p><p>"It's appalling, that's what it is. Honestly Hermione, if I didn't have more respect for the woman, I'd-"</p><p>"Mum?" Bill popped his head around the door, and George, then Harry, then the rest of the house followed suit, and soon there was a mass uproar that Hermione would be forced to converse and share a dorm with a renowned Death Eater - one that had bullied her for almost a decade, no less.</p><p>She didn't really mind, if she was being wholly honest. Not only had she built up an immunity to the scathing insults and ignorant slurs, but if she'd thought that was bad, she wouldn't have been able to even halfway describe the horrors of the wizarding war. The twisted mindset of an 18-year-old meant little to her, now, and she already knew that McGonagall wouldn't stand for such behaviour, anyway, and must've had a reason to give Malfoy such a position. Still, she let the group have their rants without so much as a grim nod, because insisting that it'd all be fine would only make them more protective.</p><p>"Merlin's saggy left ballsack, I've not heard a racket this loud since Teddy was only a newborn, what the bloody- oh."</p><p>Besides, why try to calm a commotion when an awkward reunion with your ex-boyfriend can do it for you?</p><p>Silence fell upon the room, as everyone suddenly became fascinated with the pattern on the floor. "Oh, Ron, dear... Hermione's back!" Molly announced gently, and Ron gave his mother a tight-lipped smile, which was closer to a grimace, really.</p><p>"I noticed." He retorted dryly, and Hermione winced. Apparently he'd switched from misery to anger, in her absence.</p><p>"Well... don't be rude, Ronald, I raised you better, say hello!"</p><p>Still, he maintained eye contact with his mother, not even acknowledging Hermione when he muttered a cold "hi". Thankfully, she didn't have to conjure up some half-arsed response, because he disappeared back up the stairs, leaving a frosty silence in his wake.</p><p>After a good twenty seconds of stillness, Fleur lilted, "Ahh! Bill, mon cœur, ze baby eez kicking!" and her husband rushed over with a grin on his face, pressing a hand to her swollen belly.</p><p>After a few moments, his smile faded. "I don't feel anything." Fleur merely shrugged at him.</p><p>"Oh, must 'ave been just once." She responded, shooting a wink in Hermione's direction, and the Gryffindor smiled, recognising it as a distraction to break the ice.</p><p>"Have you decided on a name yet?" Molly asked with a grin, having warmed to the witch in the past few months. Fleur glanced hesitantly at Bill, who smiled at her and nodded.</p><p>"We're thinking Victoire. It means victory, and, well..." he trailed off, clearly not too keen on elaborating, but Molly gasped in excitement nonetheless, kissing her son on the cheek and wrapping Fleur up in as tight a hug as she could manage without suffocating her bump.</p><p>"I love it! Little Victoire. Just think, in a couple of weeks, Teddy will have someone his own age to play with, instead of tormenting Errol and Crookshanks constantly."</p><p>The family all hummed in agreement, redirecting their attention to where Teddy lay, his shocking blue head of hair nestled against Ginny's neck as he snored softly. Hermione had to stop herself from imagining just what beautiful parents Lupin and Tonks would've made, lest she start crying in front of everybody.</p><p>"I think we should get this one back to his grandma's, actually, before Andromeda starts going batshit about us taking him away from her for too long," Ginny joked, retreating into the kitchen to make him a bottle in advance. Those lighthearted jokes about Andromeda's fierce maternal instincts were to cover up the fact that everyone knew she was only so passionate about Teddy because he was the only piece she had left of her daughter. Nobody had mentioned it, though, not since she'd shown her grandson a picture of Tonks and his hair turned that same startling shade of purple to match his mother's, and Andromeda had disappeared from the room in tears. </p><p>"Speaking of which, not to be cheeky or anything, but can I take my things up to your room, Gin? I'm drained, the international portkey meant I had to wake up at the most ridiculous hour of the morning." The redhead gave a wordless nod in response, in order to avoid waking the baby, and Hermione smiled back before hauling her trunk up the countless flights of stairs, praying all the while that she didn't have any more uncomfortable encounters with Ron in the hallway. </p><p> </p><p>                  ———————————————</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>The sudden cold, hard sensation of marble pressed against her back was what seemed to jolt her into consciousness, and muffled voices told her that she wasn't alone. If the fact that she was quite evidently sprawled across a floor wasn't enough to warn her that the company wasn't pleasant, the pungent odour of what could only be described as pure death said it all. Being unconscious had clearly saved her from harm so far, because aside from a nasty ache at the back of her head from where she'd clearly hit it off the marble, she felt relatively fine.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Naturally, she wasn't about to put herself at risk by giving away her conscious state, so she remained still, slowly becoming accustomed to her surroundings. The voices became louder, first, and then clearer, and she vaguely recognised that of Bellatrix Lestrange from the incident in the Department of Mysteries. Then Harry's voice echoed across the room, and, concluding that everyone's attention was directed elsewhere, she cracked open her eyes, spotting the severely deformed face of her best friend. The memories flooded back, and it took every ounce of willpower left within her to prevent herself from screaming.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Draco... look closely, son." Came another voice that'd stuck with her since second year, at Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing, though this one was merely a shadow of it's old tone: softer, more pleading. The man stood facing her general direction but didn't notice her stir, his gaze fixated on that of his son's, as he scanned Harry's face.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Her stinging hex had faltered immensely, she knew that for sure. Both poor direction and long distance had meant, although it'd throw the death eater's off, his face was no different aside from being slightly lumpy. They were damned. A boy who'd once marched around school with a box of badges with Harry's face plastered on them wouldn't be fooled by a silly charm.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I... I can't be sure." And the severity of her situation was forgotten as her eyes flew open in bewilderment to rest on the pained, pallid face of the classmate she so loathed. This was a first. Aside from that swift punch she'd served him a few years prior, and the ferret incident, she'd never seen him look so weak.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And... pardon, but did she just hear him say he wasn't SURE that it was Harry? The Malfoy she knew and hated would've jumped at the opportunity to be rid of him, and she could see in his eyes that he knew, oh he knew. Plus, even if he didn't want to give Harry up, for whatever reason... where was the abhorrent cockroach that buckled under the pressure of murdering his headmaster? Why was he willing to do that, and not simply confirm the identity of someone he hated anyway?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>As if reading her mind, his gaze snapped to hers, and his expression slipped briefly into one that was unreadable, before the shrill voice that had once been drowned out by her deep contemplation suddenly became a lot louder, and Hermione quickly became aware that she was quite obviously awake, now.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Before she had time to process what the mad witch was even saying, she was pinned to the marble, the sharp tips of Bellatrix's fingernails piercing her wrists and their faces so close together that Hermione could feel her breath on her cheek, as she turned her head to avoid eye contact. Those same nails gripped her chin, however, and forced the Gryffindor's head forward to face her, eyes glistening with insanity. Scabior, she could deal with, but in this case she knew that, if it was what Lestrange wanted, she'd never stand from this floor again.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringott's." The woman's tone was a bizarre combination of seething and blithe, and Hermione couldn't help but flinch at the way it grated in her ear. "How did you get it? What else did you and your friends take from my vault?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I didn't take anything. Please." The girl had always prided herself in her resilience, but now simply wasn't a time to feign bravery. She couldn't even find the strength to care when tears pricked in her eyes at the mere closeness of the madwoman, sliding down her cheeks and eliciting a gleeful giggle from the delinquent.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>From her position, she couldn't see neither Harry nor Ron. Voldemort had yet to make an appearance, but since this was his makeshift home for the time being, she doubted that it'd be long. Not one of them had their wands, since she'd distinctly recalled Malfoy scurrying to collect them from the floor, and she was certain that apparating would be impossible since a manor like this would surely have several wards around it. For the first time in her life, Hermione Jean Granger was stuck.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Then came the pain. She hadn't even noticed the woman on top of her draw out a dagger, nor did she notice her redirect her attention to her bare forearm. Lost in her own fearful thoughts, she was oblivious to the witch's advances until her skin was pierced, and to her immediate horror, a cry of anguish escaped her lips.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Watching her writhe in discomfort was one thing. Shedding a tear or two was likely something they'd all seen plenty of times. But, giving that entire room the satisfaction of listening as her screams echoed throughout the drawing room was the last straw, the one thing that finally broke her spirit.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>As a Gryffindor, she naturally valued her courage above all, and the shame of having none in that moment was so intense that she thought it might've even slightly numbed the physical pain of what felt like an entire bible verse being carved into her arm. Once one of the shrieks had escaped her lips, though, she didn't have the will to muster enough energy to suppress anymore, and they came freely. It wasn't as if she'd be able to care about her dignity if she was dead, anyway.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>At every instance that Bellatrix paused to survey her work, Hermione repeated the same phrases, as if it would make a difference. It wasn't me. Please. Stop. It wasn't me. Please. Stop. Her begging only seemed to spur the woman on, until after what had felt like an hour had passed, she was left alone, arm lying limply to the side of her. Bellatrix gave her a swift kick in the side for good measure, and sauntered back over to the Malfoys.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She didn't even want to look. Didn't want to see the gleam of amusement in Lucius' eyes, the subtly smug grin on Narcissa's lip. She did not one bit relish the idea of seeing Malfoy's signature smirk as he watched her filthy, foul, impure blood pool on his floor.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Instead, she cast her gaze to the crystalline chandelier hanging above her, and she would've flinched to see her reflection in the glass shards if it wasn't for her total inability to move due to the throbbing sensation that'd now spread to fester within the rest of her body.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Her tears were falling faster now, though no sound came from her mouth. Let them watch. Let them squirm and grimace as her filthy blood and her filthy tears stained their drawing room floor. None of them could come close to rivalling their dirtied minds. That, she could at least make peace with.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Hermione didn't even need to look to know what the letters on her arm spelled out. There was only one difference between her and her friends, one that made her all the more vile in the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. No, she didn't need to look. Nor did she care. She simply lay, helpless, eyes fixed on the chandelier as the crystal fragments swung gently against each other, for so long that the image had imprinted in her mind by the time she woke up. </i>
</p><p>This was routine now. Her nightmares would end with the sight of the Malfoys' ceiling, and just as her dream self began to consider that maybe this was where it ended, she was dragged back into consciousness by the discomfort of the sweat pooling beneath her body and her dangerous shortness of breath. One of these days she feared that she'd become so absorbed in her nightmare, she'd forget to breathe completely.</p><p>Ginny didn't wake up anymore. She used to, and she'd sit beside Hermione and soothe her until she fell back to sleep, but she seemed to become accustomed to it as she'd long since started sleeping through the night terrors. It was probably better this way, anyway. The last thing the brunette wanted was to be a burden. Everyone had their fair share of trauma, she just wasn't as good at handling hers.</p><p>The Dreamless Sleep potion had helped her in the beginning, but Australian rules on supplying it were far more lenient, as the British Ministry insisted that it was addictive in doses as high as she'd need them. If she'd known this, she would've bought a few in advance, but it was too late by the time she arrived home. The only way to procure any would've been to have them prescribed by a Healer, and the last thing she needed was a series of news articles describing how she'd gone so nutty that she had a potion prescription, so she'd had to make do. Besides, there was no way they'd be allowed to prescribe her as many as she really needed, so there was no point, anyway.</p><p>It didn't help, either, that the Weasley family insisted on all shopping for Hogwarts supplies together, so she would have no opportunity to sneak off on her own and buy the ingredients. The only way to get any would be to spill her little secret, and if it were up to her, Ginny wouldn't even know: though, to be fair, if she wasn't waking the younger witch up anymore, she'd probably assumed that Hermione had gotten over them. Her only choice was to slip away during their first school trip to Hogsmeade and buy some then, but that meant enduring a good three weeks of that night - and others - being repeated.</p><p>At least she'd have her own room. That only made the secret-keeping a lot easier.</p><p>Slipping out of bed once her shaking had subsided, Hermione tiptoed across the hall, pushing the bathroom door open with her fingertips only to be confronted with the near-lifeless reflection of herself in the mirror. She didn't bat an eyelid. Though she applied concealing charms throughout the day for her bags and sunken cheeks, they'd wear off by night. Still, it was no surprise. She'd had so many midnight adventures due to her sleeplessness, she reckoned that she was more used to seeing her weaker self than she was her picture-of-health façade.</p><p>Staring at herself through the mirror, she exhaled deeply. Only one more day of pretending, then she'd be in school, keeping to herself so nobody saw her enough to even think to ask questions. As it should be.</p><p>She remained leaning against the sink for a while, rhythmically inhaling and exhaling, before she pushed off away from it and retreated to Ginny's room to enjoy what little sleep she had time for.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Hermione had told Molly at any point that she was looking forward to their final familial experience in rushing through King's Cross Station, she'd be lying. Naturally, she was beyond ecstatic to have another opportunity at completing her last year at Hogwarts, but (though her pride stopped her from admitting it aloud) it simply wouldn't be the same without Harry and, well, Ron.</p><p>Of all things throughout this school year, Hermione craved normalcy. The fact that she'd be forced to interact somewhat civilly with Malfoy had already set her back quite a bit, so it was vital that she pushed the memories of the blood-stained cobblestone floors and collapsed archways out of her mind. To anyone else, it might've been pathetic, but Hermione had already spent hours of the previous weekend trying to memorise routes that avoided corridors on which she'd seen the lifeless bodies of Lupin, Tonks, Snape and her classmates.</p><p>Her dread only intensified with the knowledge that her experience wouldn't feature the two people who had made her time at Hogwarts worthwhile. Even the things she'd once loathed, like Ron's fascination with chicken and potatoes and just about any other edible thing in the Great Hall and elsewhere, or Harry keeping himself up all night trying to conjure up genius plots that would save the world only for Hermione to instantly point out every flaw, before he used his lack of sleep as an excuse to pry homework answers out of her.</p><p>The whole Head Girl thing was a pain as well. Though it had slipped her mind what with her recovery from the war, which was the reason behind her surprise at the letter (as well as her fellow Head Boy, of course), for the first five years of Hogwarts she had fantasised about securing the role on numerous occasions.</p><p>Harry had always said that he'd follow her around in his invisibility cloak when she was on duty to patrol the halls and poke her to do her head in, laughing it off when she'd whined that she'd probably scream from the shock of it and get countless lectures. Ron had pleaded her to give him a free pass to sneak to the kitchens every night, even after she'd repeated that this wasn't even a thing and you eat enough at dinner you greedy git and I might not even end up being Head Girl.</p><p>At least she had Ginny to distract her from most of this, though, although 'distract' was simply a nicer way of saying she'd threaten to Bat-Bogey-Hex the brunette into oblivion if she didn't stop moping around.</p><p>Besides, she knew she wouldn't blame Ginny for being frustrated with her if this was ever the case, anyway. Even the journey through the train station was uncomfortable for her: every few minutes she'd instinctively glance over her shoulder to make sure Ron hadn't forgotten a suitcase and Harry wasn't bashing Hedwig around carelessly in her cage (she knew he'd never meant to harm his owl, but he really could be quite oblivious sometimes).</p><p>Their goodbyes had been sweet, at least. Harry had given her a parting gift of a charm bracelet, adding his own touch of a stag charm to represent his patronus, noting with a cheeky grin that it was meant to symbolise him and his utmost importance.</p><p>Then, on a more serious note, he stated that he'd noticed how she always needed something to fiddle with out of habit if she was too anxious or distressed about something, and the bracelet should be adequate enough. That way, if said stressful situation was too dire, his charm should be there to remind her to rant to him in a message via her own patronus (which was their preferred method of communication, since Harry had been reluctant to look for a new owl since Hedwig's passing).</p><p>It wasn't too intricate, and not at all expensive since Harry must've wanted to avoid the inevitable bollocking from Hermione that always came if she thought you'd spent too much money on her. However, she had to severely restrain herself from breaking down in (happy) tears there and then, hiding her watery eyes with a long hug.</p><p>She didn't expect a thing from Ron, which was just as well, because she didn't even get a goodbye. He gave a stiff hug to Ginny and an awkward wave to Harry, but didn't so much as glance in her general direction before he went to pour himself his third bowl of pixie puffs. Hermione almost found it quite petty, before Harry softly reminded her of how cruelly she'd treated him when he was blind to her affections in their sixth year and dated Lavender instead.</p><p>Perhaps this was simply a case of bad karma. What goes around, comes around. It wasn't as if she was off snogging some other bloke in their shared common room, though. And she'd tried to show him that she'd love to move on, really. That is, if smiling at him on every rare occasion that they made eye contact counted as showing him. Still, his expression always remained blank, and as stubborn as she usually was, she'd resorted to giving up for a while.</p><p>Which is exactly why, although her heart had ached slightly at his indifference, she'd made no effort to bid her freckle-faced friend farewell. Reconciliation was still out of the window, and she wasn't about to spend her last 30 seconds in the Weasley household having a one-sided bicker.</p><p>Instead, she followed Arthur, Molly and Ginny to the Weasley patriarch's newly charmed car. It was a Ford Anglia, precisely the same model as the one Harry and Ron had destroyed and abandoned in the Forbidden Forest, although since his promotion in the ministry he certainly had the money to upgrade to a much nicer vehicle.</p><p>When Hermione found a way to politely inform him that there were much better cars nowadays than that one, he'd insisted that he was well aware but he'd barely gotten the hang of the Ford Anglia, as it was.</p><p>This memory circled back around to the forefront of her memory when Arthur started the engine, and she felt a little flicker of panic in her gut, but relied on her trust in the man. The car hovered and wobbled unsteadily for a brief moment.</p><p>"Still trying to work this bit out. Not to worry, it'll sort itself out in a jiffy!" He stated cheerily, and the excitement in his tone warmed Hermione's heart. His intense fascination with muggle "artefacts" was a pleasant change to how said population were all being condemned a few months prior.</p><p>True to his word, he managed to steady the car before it rose more evenly, and his wife muttered an incantation beneath her breath. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows as nothing happened, before she scanned the area outside the car instead and noticed that the air had seemed to thicken.</p><p>Invisibility charm. Naturally, she'd read about it already.</p><p>The journey was long, but comfortable. The Burrow wasn't too far from King's Cross Station, but Arthur was one of those drivers her dad always complained about: as he put it, they drove so slowly they might as well be going backwards. Obviously, it was probably a lot more difficult to drive through air than it was on a road, but she assumed that it was also likely down to the family's habit of being over-cautious, now.</p><p>Plus, it likely didn't help that the last car got bashed to pieces by a tree, of all things.</p><p>The landing was always the most difficult: the station had a tendency to be filled with families sending their children off to all sorts of (muggle) boarding schools, which meant they were often too busy with teary-eyed goodbyes.</p><p>Still, the fact that the Hogwarts Express had to arrive in broad daylight was kind of a pain. Hermione honestly didn't see the point in them taking the car at all, because they dropped it off in a relatively uninhabited area surrounding the station and apparated to an empty accessible toilet. Why they couldn't have done that from the warmth of the Weasley home, she had no idea. </p><p>On the other hand, she did appreciate that they had instead chosen to take the scenic route. In the few months that she'd been visiting her parents, she had sincerely missed the company of her second family. That car ride was the little boost she needed to lift her spirits about facing the ghosts of her past.</p><p>And, well, the literal ghosts of Hogwarts.</p><p>After dusting themselves off and giggling as a rather disgruntled Ginny whined that she'd landed with her foot stuck in the toilet, Molly checked that the coast was clear before ushering the group out onto the platforms, sighing as they noticed that they'd found themselves on platform 2.</p><p>This version of the scenic route was one she didn't look forward to at all: suffocating crowds and grown adults screaming at one another to hurry up else they miss their train. She most definitely was not too keen on the idea of passing all of the whiny, privileged, arrogant boarding school kids on the way.</p><p>Speaking of which, a longer walk meant less time tolerating Malfoy's face in their designated Head's carriage on the train. This perked her up a little bit.</p><p>But, at the same time, the Weasley's were already known for their lack of punctuality, let alone when they accidentally apparated 7 platforms away from where they were supposed to be. As nervous as she was to go back, Hermione didn't fancy being late to her final year. McGonagall wouldn't mind, but she certainly would.</p><p>Noticing that they had under ten minutes left to get on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione and Ginny opted for bidding the Weasleys farewell there and then, and sprinting the rest of the distance to the platform. Molly had been a rock for the entirety of their journey, but instantly broke down into floods of tears the moment the pair shared their plan with her.</p><p>"Oh, my girls, you stay safe, alright? I'll make sure to owl you as often as I can, so you look out for that. So brave." She muttered between tears, enveloping them both in a crushing yet comfortable embrace.</p><p>Her husband stepped forward to join the hug, kissing both girls on top of their heads while Hermione couldn't help but note how her own father hadn't even shown such sentimentality, since she restored his memory.</p><p>"Molls?" He gave her an indicating glance towards a handbag that closely resembled the one in Mary Poppins that Hermione had always been fascinated with as a young girl, and her eyes widened in realisation, before she pulled out two long stretches of cotton. The one she handed to Ginny was a periwinkle blue, closely resembling the shade of her eyes, and Hermione's was a deep maroon. Naturally, it wouldn't be a gift from Molly Weasley if it didn't have their first initial embroidered on the end of what Hermione eventually deduced to be a scarf.</p><p>"There. I thought a jumper would be quite silly, as obviously you're still getting one for Christmas, but since this is quite a different year I thought a parting gift was owed." She beamed in spite of her wet eyes, and the two girls both pulled the woman into a hug once more.</p><p>"Mum, you don't owe us anything." Ginny reassured, and Hermione gave a nod of agreement.</p><p>"Oh, hush, you. It's awfully cold this year, and it's only September. It'll keep you warm." Both girls gave a grateful grin and wrapped their presents around their necks, their smiles simultaneously widening at the instant comfort.</p><p>"Warming charm?" Hermione inquired, and the older witch nodded.</p><p>"I thought you might notice that. Obviously, you can remove it if it's a little too stuffy, but I thought it would be a nice touch."</p><p>Warming charm or not, the brunette felt her heart glow with felicity at the thought that the older witch had put into the gift - and one that she didn't even need to give, at that. The Weasleys' hospitality, even after her situation with Ron, had been more than she could handle.</p><p>"They really are beautiful. Thank you. For everything." The redhead patted her comfortingly on the cheek, seeming to know what she'd meant by 'everything' - they'd had multiple debates already about how Hermione simply couldn't believe that Molly didn't lay an ounce of blame on her for driving her son away to his room for months.</p><p>"Oh, never you mind, dear. Now - Merlin, look at the time! Shoo! You have a train to catch, and as much as I love the two of you, Arthur wouldn't fancy another wrecked car."</p><p>"No, Molly's right, you'd best get a move on. The Hogwarts Express isn't known for dawdling. Off you pop." The group had one final, lingering hug, before the girls gripped their carts and sped off down the platforms.</p><p>As eager as she was to gain some independence once she'd finished her education, Hermione would miss the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she hurried through the wall at platform 9 and 3 quarters, the odd sensation that rippled through her entire body as she stepped through a brick wall as easily as she would through an open door way.</p><p>The simplicity of the journey to Hogwarts was half of what made it so special, so exciting. Each and every time she crossed the threshold of the platform, that surge of nostalgia overwhelmed her and she was dragged back to her first experience as a short, bushy-haired, over-eager first year, reciting every incantation that she'd learned over the past year in her head in a desperate attempt to impress who would soon become her classmates. She'd read all about muggle-borns, and how Hogwarts lacked them. It was vital that she proved herself to be as skilful as any pureblood, or anybody else in her year, for that matter.</p><p>That same timid 11-year-old would've cackled in one's face if they'd told her that, in 7 years time, she'd be drowning in both fame and logic; the epitome of witchkind. Hermione was not one to brag, but lying was worse, so she'd openly admit that her achievements (so far) massively surpassed her aspirations as an excitable child.</p><p>"Well. This is where we split." Ginny grumbled, earning a half-apologetic glance from the brunette.</p><p>"It's only a few hours, we'll be at the castle in no time. At least it's just us this year, and we don't have to tolerate the boys. Plus, there's Luna. It'll be far better with us girls anyway." Hermione reassured, and a grin instantly planted itself onto her friend's lips.</p><p>"Oh, that's true. We don't have to waste our time making sure that Ron doesn't choke to death on his chicken, and Harry doesn't get battered like a fish by every magical creature known to man."</p><p>"Mhm." Hermione sighed wistfully, and, upon seeing Ginny's cocked eyebrow, added "There are some aspects I will miss. For example, with them gone, all the romance will be dead."</p><p>"What romance? 'Mione, you broke up with Ron, you confusing git."</p><p>"No, not Ron and I." She huffed, and when the younger girl gestured for her to elaborate, she obeyed, "I'll miss witnessing the little things. You know. Eyes as green as a fresh pic- OW!" A (thankfully rather small) bag hurtled towards her, smacking her right in the shoulder. "I'm warning you, I'm head girl now, I'll order the frog choir to recite it instead! I doubt you have enough bags on you to attack them."</p><p>"No, Hermione, but I assure you, there is no shortage of bat bogey hexes." She eyed her tentatively before shaking her head, unable to suppress a smirk of amusement. "Right, this is my cue to leave, before I'm tempted to launch this entire trolley your way."</p><p>The older girl merely giggled in response, knowing damn well that Ginny would do no such thing because she, herself, was far too by-the-book to play any such trick. She was being honest, though. She'd miss poking fun at her friends' adolescent soppiness.</p><p>After she'd waved Ginny away towards her carriage, she turned towards her own with a heavy sigh. Despite her built-up resilience against Malfoy's empty threats and bitter insults, that didn't mean she wanted to waste time listening to it all, when it could be spent on much more valuable activities, like re-reading Hogwarts: A History for the 23rd time.</p><p>Glancing through the window on the door to the carriage, she heaved a sigh of relief when she found it to be empty, sliding said door open and taking a few steps into the carriage. It was almost identical to every other carriage, probably down to the fact that it was only occasionally used for the Heads.</p><p>It slightly astounded her that she was the first here, as a few moments ago she'd been almost positive that she'd be late, but instead of dwelling on it she made use of what would likely be the temporary peace within the carriage, taking her time to slot her cases into the luggage rack.</p><p>When they were all up there, she took a moment to survey the carriage, that warm feeling of familiarity flooding her body as she inhaled, her nostrils met with that unmissable scent of steam and... cologne? She wasn't wearing cologne.</p><p>"If you're trying to admire the view, Granger, I do suggest that you look this way instead." Came the drawl from behind her that only confirmed what she was thinking, and she turned, though her tight expression loosened to feature a frown of confusion as her eyes met those of Draco Malfoy's, his lean form tucked away in a corner, out of sight of anyone who might've peered through the window. Drat.</p><p>On first glance she noticed that his voice didn't match his face. That ringing, confident drone was still very much intact, but his expression, to put it simply, was dead. There was little difference between his own face and those of the majority of the wizarding world, but she'd marched onto this train expecting the boy to be his typical arrogant self, bragging about how he, a death eater, got off scot-free, and was swimming in the luxury of his manor whilst the rest of the world still woke up screaming in the middle of the night.</p><p>This, it seemed, was a rare occasion on which Hermione was wrong. Even the signature Malfoy smirk that she knew and loathed couldn't mask the lifelessness in his eyes, and the dark circles underneath. His cheekbones had always been naturally prominent, and he quite suited his naturally pale complexion, but now his face seemed emaciated, and the Slytherin looked plain ill.</p><p>It was this astonishing quality that seemed to steal her planned retort right from her lips, and she could only stare, trying to deduce why he wasn't living in a state of total euphoria.</p><p>"Oh, close your mouth, you'll catch flies."</p><p>No, she was wrong. He was probably fine.</p><p>"Oh, shut up, Malfoy, don't make this any more nauseating than it already is." She bit out, sliding into the booth facing him and consequentially earning a scoff.</p><p>"You call me nauseating and then voluntarily sit with me. Honestly, make your mind up."</p><p>"McGonagall should be here to explain everything soon. I'm hardly going to complicate things by making her stand in between us and shout rules to either end of the carriage."</p><p>"I don't see why not. It's exactly what she should've expected when she chose to pair us up as Head Boy and Girl, of all people."</p><p>"Yes, Malfoy, speaking of which, how did you manage to worm your way into that one?"</p><p>Rats. She had him there. He wasn't really about to disclose the fact that his Mother had literally paid the school off to give him the position. That'd just be handing her his head on a plate, and he wasn't about to give some blasted nerd the opportunity to torment him.</p><p>"Has it escaped your notice that my own grades rivalled yours in every single class? Bar divination, of course. I was better in that." Swelling with pride once he'd managed to elicit a scowl from the girl, he decided the bear hadn't quite been poked enough. "Oh, and, may I add, that was with little to no effort. I can't honestly remember spending a single evening with my nose in a book. You, on the other hand," he scoffed and shook his head, "just imagine if I'd tried, Granger. The horror!"</p><p>"Malfoy, I could've sworn you had a tutor."</p><p>"In my third year, but barely. The woman was so terrified of what my father would think of her work, she could hardly string a sentence together, so he fired her."</p><p>He'd repeated the lie so many times, he found that it now flowed easily off his tongue. The reality was, in fact, the complete opposite. He was terrified of the idea of Lucius' disapproval. Since the tutor wasn't working out, the older Malfoy had fired her and resorted to locking his son in the library for six hours a day instead.</p><p>To that present day, Draco didn't understand how he was expected to learn how to brew a dragonpox cure in a room full of books about inventive new ways to torture your (often referred to as 'mudblood') opponent, but ah well.</p><p>"Right. Well, believe it or not, my goal in life was far from beating you, so that makes no difference to me anyway."</p><p>"Sure, nerd. Whatever you say."</p><p>For the sake of civility, Hermione didn't utter another word, but chose to silently lean back in her seat and absorb the scenery for one of the last times.</p><p>No matter how many books she browsed through, how many witches and wizards she asked, she never could pinpoint the magic behind Platform 9 3/4. In her naïvety, 11-year-old Hermione had considered the possibility that maybe it was an expansion charm on the wall, like the one she'd later come to use on her back. But, if this was the case, what explained the magic behind being able to pass through the wall?</p><p>The subsequent theory was some sort of portkey magic, that the contact with the wall teleported you to somewhere completely different. That idea was instantly dismissed, as the point of a portkey is that it's teleported along with you, and the wall stood steadfast on the platform.</p><p>To anyone else, that would be the beauty of it. All magic, whether dark or light, simple or complex, can be broken down into basics; like building blocks. For charms, it's mere wand movement and pronunciation. Potions can be brewed with simple step-by-step instructions. Even Care of Magical Creatures is easy enough: magical beings often just want to be treated kindly. It's rare that you find a phenomenon like the platform wall, with little more than a brief mention and some mild, heavily inaccurate speculation in a limited array of history books.</p><p>Hermione disagreed. She was insistent that the beauty of magic was knowing what it did and how it did it, how all the pieces fitted together and how many other marvels you could invent by rearranging and altering said pieces. If she could, she would've experimented with some (harmless) magic herself, but it was highly illegal to attempt to create your own charms without specific permission from the ministry.</p><p>Four months of peace or not, Hermione still didn't trust the ministry with a single bone in her body. She wasn't going anywhere near them.</p><p>"Anything from the cart, dears?" The Trolley Witch's voice dragged her out of her thoughts, and she shook her head in amusement as Malfoy instantly delved into his trouser pocket, drawing out four sickles and requesting a chocolate frog in a terrifyingly sweet voice.</p><p>The elderly witch passed him the small box, conjuring another one to replace the empty spot on the trolley before redirecting her attention to Hermione.</p><p>"Anything for yourself?"</p><p>The brunette scanned the contents of the trolley musingly, before shooting a smile at the woman and shaking her head. "No, thank you. I'm quite full from breakfast."</p><p>When the older witch was gone, she shot a glance at the boy sitting opposite to her, who was currently in the midst of trying to wrestle with his particularly wriggly chocolate frog without looking absolutely ridiculous in the process. In the end, he simply tore off a leg and popped it into his mouth, and the frog fell limp.</p><p>Sometimes, the mannerisms of chocolate frogs were so realistic, Hermione had to force herself to remember that they weren't actually living things.</p><p>Malfoy was chewing contentedly on the leg when he caught Hermione eyeing him, and he rolled his eyes. "Stop fucking looking at me."</p><p>"Language," she reprimanded, the motherly instinct she'd formed after so much time living with Harry and Ron making an appearance. Draco looked at her like she'd just shot a niffler. "I was honestly just surprised that you didn't buy the entire cart-ful just to throw around that glorious Malfoy blood money you love bragging about so much."</p><p>The blonde almost felt his cheeks drain of colour, although, being naturally pale, he doubted that Hermione had even noticed. It'd been ten minutes, and he'd only just managed to narrowly avoid a conversation about where his wealth had gotten him - specifically, the highest given position in the student body. He wasn't about to have this talk.</p><p>"Or, if not that, then because of your ridiculous sweet tooth."</p><p>"I don't recall ever asking for your opinion on my diet, Granger. And, rich or not, I at least have enough decency not to drain the cart and starve the rest of the train for the entire journey. As I distinctly recall from first year, Potter had a very different idea."</p><p>"Oh, please. Decency is a foreign word, to you."</p><p>"Granger, I had private tutors for most of my childhood before Hogwarts. My father wasn't quite so terrifying then. I'm fluent in French, Latin, and Greek. There are far fewer words foreign to me than there are to you."</p><p>Hermione stared at him for a while, quite speechless since she hadn't expected him to spew a load of privileged nonsense when she'd already criticised him for it in advance. In the end, she settled with a snort. "Snob."</p><p>"Wish I could say the same," he drawled in retort. "Ladies don't snort."</p><p>"And gentlemen don't absorb their food as if they haven't eaten in days."</p><p>Something flickered behind his eyes, but it was gone as soon as she noticed it, and she didn't comment.</p><p>"Whatever. This is already more conversation than I reckoned we'd have this entire year, and it's making me feel sick."</p><p>"Are you sure it's not the chocolate frog?"</p><p>His eyes narrowed.</p><p>"What is your vendetta against chocolate frogs? Have you never eaten a sweet before?"</p><p>Hermione frowned. She wasn't even conscious of her constant nitpicking, and out of the whole myriad of flaws Malfoy possessed, it was a miracle that his fondness for sugar was her biggest peeve.</p><p>Perhaps the absence of her parents was finally taking its toll on her. They were dentists, after all. Since there was nobody there to reprimand her for eating too much sugar, she had to fulfil that role.</p><p>"Of course I have, don't be stupid. You're just getting on my nerves."</p><p>"My mission is accomplished, then."</p><p>She scowled and turned her head away from him again, huffing a sigh of irritation as he began to chuckle. "What's so funny?"</p><p>When no reply came, she contemplated simply ignoring him for the rest of the journey, but curiosity overwhelmed her stubbornness, and she glanced up. The blond was staring at the card in amusement, shaking his head.</p><p>"My, my, Granger. I might be a pompous prick, but, check you out." He turned the card around and she found herself staring at her own face. "Got your own chocolate frog card. All hail, war heroine."</p><p>"Give me that." She bit out, snatching it out of his unsuspecting hand and surveying it herself. Sure as anything, there she was. It was the photo one of Rita Skeeter's protégé's had managed to snap mere moments after Voldemort was pronounced dead. She loathed pictures as it is, but in this particular shot, her hair was far more disheveled than usual, and her skin might as well have been completely maroon, what with the mass of mud and blood gracing her face.</p><p>No wonder Malfoy had looked so smug.</p><p>"Dumbledore once said chocolate frog cards were his greatest achievement." She thought aloud, turning the small, purple pentagon over in her hand, scanning the gold inscription.</p><p>
  <i>Hermione Jean Granger is notable for her aid to the Order of the Phoenix in ensuring Lord Voldemort's demise. Esteemed member of the famous "Golden Trio," she is known to many as the Brightest Witch of her Age, and will be remembered for many centuries for her outstanding achievements, including but not limited to her establishment of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare (S.P.E.W).</i>
</p><p>"It's been four months since the war. You'd think they'd have other priorities." She muttered bitterly, tossing the card down in front of her in disdain. Draco's hand swept instantly over the table top, plucking it up and scanning the back himself.</p><p>"S.P.E.W? Seriously? You're supposed to be intelligent." He snorted derisively.</p><p>Her mouth opened to retort, but the carriage door slid open and McGonagall swept in. The familiar business-like expression that the witch had donned even as a professor had reappeared, but the soft smile that she shot Hermione didn't quite reach her eyes.</p><p>It felt wrong of her to replace Dumbledore, she assumed. Minerva had been present when Harry had excoriated Snape for trying to fill the man's shoes, and most of the Great Hall had surely felt the same. They were, after all, large shoes to fill.</p><p>This, however, was the same lady who managed to organise an entire school full of children in mere hours to keep everybody safe during a war. Running it daily would be child's play for her.</p><p>"Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy." She nodded at both students, clasping her hands and standing before them both. "I assume - I hope, your presence here means you've accepted your positions?"</p><p>The pair nodded in confirmation, Draco's movements a little more reluctant. The Headmistress gave a small smile.</p><p>"Good. Now, one of your duties is to instruct the prefects on their shifts patrolling the Hogwarts train, making sure students, especially first years, are well equipped for the journey. However, our custom is that professors fill in for you on the start-of-year journey, so the Head can inform all of the chosen students of their responsibilities.</p><p>"Naturally, you will receive the same privileges as usual - use of the prefect's bathroom, your own shared dormitory, et cetera. As you may know, the Head Boy and Girl once had unlimited access to the restricted section of the library, but due to fairly recent events we've removed that rule and most of that section entirely.</p><p>"However, these roles were not given so you could experience the benefits. They come with great responsibility, which I'm sure you two are more than capable of holding. You are to assign evening patrol shifts to the prefects tomorrow morning, doing at least one night per fortnight yourself. There is no lenience for overdue assignments. Professors will not accept the excuse that you were on patrol, as that is your fault for procrastinating. However, as I said, I'm sure this won't be a problem for either of you. It rarely is. We choose our Heads wisely."</p><p>Headmistress McGonagall continued with her detailed list of each duty, all of which Hermione had long since researched, mostly due to her desperation to become Head Girl one day. She expected nothing to be too difficult. A few of the earlier years might need some additional consoling now and then, likely still traumatised from May, but her role should be a fairly easy one.</p><p>Malfoy, however, she was worried about. Not for him, per se, but for the students that'd face his wrath - the wrath being hundreds of unnecessary house point deductions, and the students being Gryffindors, mostly. He'd been intolerable enough as a regular student. As much as she admired McGonagall, it was a colossal misstep to give the likes of him a position of power.</p><p>The boy in question seemed to be lacking in concentration himself. Though his gaze was on the Headmistress, his eyes were unfocused, and she noticed his hands fiddling animatedly with his wand.</p><p>Not paying attention already, she noted in disbelief, brushing aside the thought that she was an utter hypocrite. At least she knew what McGonagall would say anyway. She hardly thought Malfoy had dissected that chapter in "Hogwarts: A History" at least nine times, as she had.</p><p>"Any further questions?" The witch's inquiry snapped Hermione out of her daydream, and she desperately wanted to scream, yes. Why him? Why willingly choose a known former death eater - well, hardly former if the dark mark was still plastered on his forearm - to run a school she'd been so insistent on protecting mere months ago? Had the war driven her completely loony?</p><p>She kept her mouth shut, though, resorting to a brief nod and a forced smile. If she spoke, she might've exploded.</p><p>"Nope." Draco replied, popping the "p".</p><p>McGonagall seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "I didn't think you would. Thank you for accepting such a huge responsibility, especially... never-mind. I'll be in the carriage beside you if you have any afterthoughts." Her final statement seemed to be directed at Draco as her eyes met his, and she shot him a knowing look.</p><p>Hermione's eyes narrowed. He was definitely threatening her. Or was she imperiused?</p><p>Or was she absolutely delusional and perhaps he'd gained the position due to the fact that their grades had almost been parallel and, despite his constant taunting and the attempted murder of his Headmaster, he was quite the idyllic student.</p><p>It seemed plausible, but she held onto her suspicions nonetheless.</p><p>The moment the Headmistress had left the carriage, Hermione gathered her cloak and wand and slid out of her seat, making a move to walk to the other end.</p><p>"Granger, if you were going to beg McGonagall to replace me with another Head Boy, you could've done so in my presence. You should know by now that your opinion is worth nothing."</p><p>"That's ironic, considering if the wrong person ever even so much as looked at you, you'd threaten to go whining to your father about it."</p><p>He rolled his eyes. "I didn't whine."</p><p>"Oh, really?" Her lips curved into a slight smirk, and she grabbed her upper arm mockingly. "Oh, my arm, my arm! It's killed me!" Letting her arm drop back to her side, she remained silent for a moment, before letting out a low laugh. "And you actually reported that one to your father."</p><p>"You try getting maimed by the bloody thing, and then judge me."</p><p>"I wouldn't end up in such a situation. I have too much respect for other beings."</p><p>"Ah, yes. S.P.E.W. Quite a fitting name, really. The whole thing makes me want to spew."</p><p>"What, because you don't know how to make your own bed without the help of a house elf?" She rolled her eyes, giving him no room to respond as she spun on her heel and walked down the carriage to a seat at the opposite end, sliding into that instead.</p><p>Draco watched after her, furrowing his eyebrows when he realised that she wasn't actually entering the professors' carriage. His face relaxed then, a somewhat triumphant gleam in his eye. He could still irritate the life out of her, but not so much that she'd be petty enough to force him out of his position.</p><p>Perfect.</p><p>Calling her a Mudblood was a bit extreme, now, for two reasons: one, anyone caught saying the word in a derogatory manner was to be stripped of their wand for six months; and, two, he was trying to better his prejudiced customs himself, and continuing to use the slur, whether it was to Granger or not, would only set him back.</p><p>He needed other tactics, desperately. He'd be living in the same tower as the witch for a year, now. Complete ignorance was boring, and he was not going to pretend to tolerate somebody so insufferable just for the sake of it.</p><p>No. She'd chosen to keep her position, knowing that he came with it. She'd made her bed, and now she'd lie in it. And, oh, was she going to regret it.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>Hermione woke to something prodding her repeatedly in the arm, and she sat up straighter. She lifted a hand to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, feeling that her whole head of hair had become considerably bushier throughout her nap.</p><p>Great. First evening back at Hogwarts and she looked like she'd been dragged through a bush backwards by a drunken Hippogriff.</p><p>"You look disgusting."</p><p>She raised her head to find that the person attached to the finger was Draco, smirking down at her in sheer amusement. She smacked his hand away upon realising. "What do you think you're doing?"</p><p>"Waking you up. Obviously. I contemplated leaving you and letting the train carry you back to King's Cross, but that wouldn't be very professional of me. So, you're welcome."</p><p>"Bugger off, Malfoy. I'm up. You can leave."</p><p>He snorted, but left wordlessly, swinging his cloak over one shoulder and gliding out of the carriage in a manner that closely resembled his mother. Rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm, she peeled back the curtain and stared out the window. The train had stopped, the first years already beginning to spill out of the doors.</p><p>Sleeping in such close proximity to Malfoy was stupid. If she'd had another nightmare, she would've been well and truly done for. She'd never hear the end of it. Hell, it'd be in the Daily Prophet, if he could help it.</p><p>Using the window as a makeshift mirror, she smoothed down her hair as much as she could manage with her hands. Presentable enough. Much less untamed than her first few years, anyhow.</p><p>Her face looked far less pale than it had that morning - the sleep had helped. Her eyes were still encircled in dark rings, and her cheeks were unnaturally colourless, but she looked better. It could be worse.</p><p>She could look as drained as Malfoy.</p><p>Ah, well. That was probably down to restless nights plotting revenge with his father. Or, maybe the ghosts of the dead had come back to pay him his due.</p><p>Whatever it was, it wasn't her problem. Once she'd deemed her appearance acceptable, she reached for the pocket of her robes to make sure that her wand was still where she'd left it. Satisfied to find the familiar smoothness of the wood meet her fingers, she pulled on her cloak and stepped out of the carriage, the harsh breeze already stinging her cheeks in spite of the fact that summer had only just ended.</p><p>She scanned the crowd. Usually, she wouldn't even have the time to take in the crowd flooding the platform, or the babbling excitement of the younger students, but that was because she'd already be mid-conversation with Harry and Ron, subconsciously strolling straight towards the school.</p><p>This year, they weren't here. Ginny and Luna were probably nearby, but she wasn't so sure she wanted their company right now, because theirs was the wrong company, as much as she loved them.</p><p>Hermione was used to change. First when she discovered she was a witch. Then the blissful tranquility of the wizarding world being flipped upside down with the gradual rise of a dark wizard. The loss, the separation from her parents, all of it completely abrupt, and she'd handled it.</p><p>But she'd handled it with her two best friends. Without them there, it was as if the chaos and the confusion were all tumbling down on her at once</p><p>No. Ginny and Luna would be fine. She needed to take this in on her own. It was something she'd be getting used to.</p><p>She neared the beginning of the trail across the Hogwarts grounds, and flinched when she noticed that the once driverless student carriages were now linked to dark, skeletal - albeit magnificent - creatures, tilting their heads towards her as if urging her to get on, already.</p><p>Thestrals. Naturally, she'd researched them when delving into the hundreds of Magical Creature laws that the Ministry had established over the past several centuries.</p><p>They only appeared visible to you after you'd witnessed a death. She easily met that qualification, now. She'd be seeing thestrals a hundred times over, if it were possible.</p><p>As hauntingly beautiful as the beasts were, she instantly wished she didn't have to see them. It was a reminder, if anything. Perhaps it'd be wise to suggest an alternative mode of transport to McGonagall.</p><p>Turning back to see if the Headmistress was nearby, she froze when her eyes met the sight of the older witch conversing calmly with the blond that'd woken her up only mere moments before.</p><p>Maybe this was it. Perhaps Malfoy had already realised that he didn't want to suffer from being in the constant presence of a mudblood for his final year, and was backing out. Maybe she'd be paired with someone kinder. Like Dean, or Ernie. She knew those two to be exceptionally smart.</p><p>Draco caught sight of her staring at his interaction within mere moments, and shot a glare at her, watching as she rolled her eyes and pulled herself up onto the carriage she'd stood beside. He wouldn't even touch the witch with a 20-foot pole, let alone stand by and allow her to stalk him from the shadows. She'd be in for it later, she reckoned, but decided not to dwell on it, smiling warmly at those who joined her on the carriage, instead, and risking one last glance at the talking pair as it pulled away from the station.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I apologise, this chapter is about a thousand words shorter than usual, but that’s because it’s a little slow! It requires heavy editing, but I wanted to get one finished, since this is mostly just seeing them both get settled into school. They don’t even interact in this chapter. Sorry :/ But, better content is coming! Thank you for sticking around so far :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As much as Hermione had begged and pleaded to participate in the reconstruction effort at Hogwarts, McGonagall had insisted that she already had an abundance of help, and, besides, the girl had endured enough already. Rebuilding the castle with the others would only stress her out, and she needed a break. </p><p>Instead, Hermione had to make do with donating a small sum of money to the project, and in spite of McGonagall's constant insisting that she'd done more than enough, the former still felt the complete opposite. She'd contributed to this mess. She and her two best friends were the centrepiece of it all. </p><p>But, they were fine. Harry was training to be an Auror, still serving the wizarding world even after all he'd been through. Ron was dedicating his time to healing George - and others too, apparently, since Hermione could've sworn she'd overheard Molly speaking of his attendance at multiple Post-War Support Groups. </p><p>What was she doing? Those two had fought valiantly, whilst she'd primarily been the brains behind the operation. It was her duty to plan things properly and efficiently, and maybe if she'd been smarter, the Death Eaters wouldn't have almost irreparably destroyed Hogwarts. Maybe they wouldn't have even reached the castle.</p><p>What little money McGonagall would accept from her didn't even make a dent in her pocket. For some reason unbeknownst to her, the school had the funds for all repairs almost immediately. Her own money would probably be for the smaller things, like food and supplies.</p><p>It wasn't as if she couldn't spare it. Those who had fought at Hogwarts had received some form of pay-out, especially the Order and the trio. Voldemort's puppet Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesse, had been hoarding a great deal of the Ministry's money, perhaps for the Dark Lord's post-war plans. Since they'd thankfully been destroyed, and with Thicknesse dead, the Ministry found that, even after giving bereaved families compensation and mending any other wizarding areas, there was enough money left over to reward the heroes.</p><p>Hermione loathed it. There were far better ways to invest so much money. Improving schools, protecting magical creatures, funding poor muggle families when their magical child is in need of supplies. Plus, the fact that the Ministry thought for even a second that they'd all fought so they'd be rewarded was enough proof that their morals were questionable. </p><p> If they weren't so corrupt, Hermione would've rejected the money, but she knew that she'd use it much more selflessly. Despite Kingsley Shacklebolt being elected - a man she could wholly trust - there was only so much he could control, what with the Ministry’s financial system. The money would only go right back in their pockets. </p><p>So, yes, she kept it, opening a separate vault at Gringotts so she could differentiate between that and her personal savings. Though she was unsure of how, Hermione Granger was going to make a difference. </p><p>Though her lack of contribution to Hogwarts, specifically, was something she hated, she realised now that it was probably for the best. She'd contentedly joined the swarm of students flooding the Great Hall, laughing as she found herself squashed between several excitable Hufflepuffs. It usually would've irritated her, but, this was her last year, after all. She'd miss this when it was gone. </p><p>It wasn't until everyone had taken a seat and the crowds were inexistent, however, that she truly began to feel suffocated. Ginny and Neville were on either side of her, and both of her friends had given her more than enough room to move, but she still felt as though the room was closing in on her, and the tempo of her heartbeat had drastically increased.</p><p>Maybe it was just nerves. She'd always been eager to please, and without the distraction of an impending battle, her studies were her only obstacle. For some reason, this made them seem all the more petrifying.</p><p>How would she be able to change the world with no grades to get her anywhere? She hadn't stepped foot inside a classroom for over a year, unless it was to pursue a death eater or safely conceal a second year in a supply cupboard. She'd learnt the entire 7th year syllabus back to front around two years early, but she could've easily forgotten. She'd hardly given incantations or potions recipes a second thought for months. </p><p>Hermione had been so lost in her silent panicking that she'd missed McGonagall's entire speech. The sudden outburst of chatter snapped her out of her hysteria, and she found that the Headmistress had already settled back into her seat. Seamus was trying unsuccessfully to string a sentence together after shovelling forkfuls of beef into his mouth, reminding Hermione painfully of Ron.</p><p>No. She couldn't even fix a friendship. Making an impact on the entire magical community was going to be impossible.</p><p>"Oi, 'Mione. What've you been up to over the past few months, anyway? Visited Harry a couple times, 'n you were never at the Burrow." Neville asked, and she mentally thanked him for inviting her into their conversation. It was something to distract her, at least.</p><p>"Oh, yes, right, I went to Australia. Just to get away." She added a little too hastily, reluctant to repeat the details of her familial situation to yet another overly sympathetic person.</p><p>"Merlin, I bet that was nice. Thought you would've been a bit more tanned."</p><p>Nobody seemed to notice when she winced. She had tanned, really, and she was grateful for it. Her weeks of sleeplessness and lingering stress had made her deathly pale. Her tan was responsible for what little colour she had left.</p><p>"Australia's hours away. Did anyone there even know about what happened?"</p><p>Hermione shrugged. "I'm unsure. I mostly stuck to the muggle areas and went sightseeing. I doubt it, though. America wanted nothing to do with it, and it hardly even touched Europe."</p><p>"Bloody cheeky, if you ask me." Seamus chimed in, mouth thankfully empty. "It would've been a whole other story if he'd won. They would've regretted it, then."</p><p>Ginny hummed in agreement, but Hermione couldn't help but flinch, as though he'd physically struck her. The aftermath of them winning was tragic enough. She didn't want to think about how things could've been if they'd lost. </p><p>"So, Head Girl," Neville must've sensed Hermione's growing discomfort, swiftly changing the subject. "How you feeling about that?"</p><p>"How am I feeling?" A grin seeped across her face. "Absolutely perfect. I've been waiting for this for as long as I can remember."</p><p>"Yeah. We know. It's all you went on about." Seamus muttered, shooting her a cheeky grin and dodging a napkin that she launched his way.</p><p>"Excuse me for having ambition."</p><p>"You're excused."</p><p>Hermione scoffed, and contemplated throwing a chicken leg at him instead. </p><p>"Be careful, Seamus, or this time it'll be me burning your eyebrows off." Ginny warned, cocking an eyebrow at him teasingly, and he laughed. </p><p>"Seriously, though, Hermione. Congrats. And... well, good luck." He grimaced and cocked his head in the direction of the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was absently poking at his food, a permanent scowl on his face. </p><p>She'd have to get used to that.</p><p>"Thanks, Seamus. I'll need it."</p><p>"'Course you won't." Ginny whacked her arm playfully and scoffed. "You're Hermione bloody Granger. No matter how much of a foul git he might try to be, I'm sure that he'll still be the one needing the luck. He puts one toe out of line, you be sure to hex that man into oblivion. Merlin knows he deserves it."</p><p>Hermione grinned at Ginny's miniature monologue, a surge of nostalgia flooding through her. She missed the times when the worst thing Malfoy had done was magically elongate her teeth. Now, she'd be sharing responsibilities with a murderer.</p><p>Every time she tried reminding herself not to judge, she had to suppress the urge to laugh uproariously. This was a boy who taunted her for years without bothering to get to know her, purely because of her heritage, and she was here, giving him the benefit of the doubt?</p><p>What little pity for him that lived within her was always engulfed by the sheer loathing she felt for the blond. For the last four months, she'd been convincing herself that if the Ministry let his family go, he couldn't be so horrible.</p><p>However, the ministry made mistakes. The ministry once wrongly denounced Albus Dumbledore for lying, simply because they feared the oncoming war. And, it was much more difficult to make excuses for Malfoy when she was the one that had to deal with him. </p><p>A little distance definitely made all the difference. It made him seem more tolerable. Almost painfully poetic. The Boy Who Had No Choice.</p><p>It'd only been a few hours, and that image of him had long since been torn to shreds. Nobody as arrogant as him would ever find themselves unable to weasel their way out of a situation. He had to have known what he was doing.</p><p>If that was the case, there was no way his moral compass had flipped right around in 4 short months. She wasn't safe. Not near him. </p><p>"I have to go. It's been lovely seeing all of you again." She swallowed, nodding at each of her friends as she climbed off the bench. "Really. I'll see you all tomorrow."</p><p>Ginny eyed her curiously, and she forced a grin. "I'd better get some sleep, that's all. We're in for a hard year. I'd rather get a head start on resting."</p><p>"Hard year? Don't pretend you don't have the entire syllabus memorised already. You'll be fine." Neville laughed. It was obvious that his aim was to give her a confidence boost, but it didn't quite have the effect he'd been hoping for. The brunette merely shrugged in retort, before slipping out of the Great Hall.</p><p>She'd never visited the library on the night of arrival. Even she wasn't that bad. She just hoped it'd be open nonetheless. </p><p>Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind, anyway. After all, no matter how early she went to bed, there'd still be an equal chance that a nightmare would wake her at some point, so that'd just be time wasted. </p><p>No, she'd put her evenings to better use.</p><p> <br/>
                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>"You're not even gonna have the chance to settle in properly on your own, now. Look at her. Dinner's barely started and she's already scurrying away." Pansy snorted as she watched Hermione leave the hall, nudging Draco, who'd been stabbing individual peas with each prong of his fork. "Probably off to mar your common room with red and gold decorations."</p><p>"Probably." He hummed in response, making no effort to conceal his disinterest. Though the girl was in no way her fiendish, irritating former self anymore, she still possessed the inability to stop talking. She was one of his best friends, and was, in fact, a rather interesting woman to talk to now, but that didn't mean he wanted to sit there and listen to her going on with herself on his first night back. </p><p>"How dull is that going to be?" She continued, seemingly unfazed with his lack of amusement. "Stuck in a tower with some wiseacre golden girl, while she chirps on about her best friend Harry Potter. It's quite funny, actually."</p><p>He only hummed in half-hearted agreement once more. Honestly, he couldn't care less about sharing the tower. He, unlike Pansy, apparently, had the mental capacity to know that if they each had their own room, he could easily stay away from the common room, and they'd only see each other in passing or during their duties. It wouldn't be much different than usual.</p><p>"Oh, come on, you don't have to put on a face and pretend to be happy with it. I know you're on thin ice and all, but do I look like the Ministry to you? You can tell me what you really think."</p><p>"I don't think anything, Pansy. And, neither should you." He let his fork drop to his plate with a clatter that drew more than a couple of heads, but he paid them no heed. For once, he was his main priority. He'd finish school, get his qualifications and then he'd be gone. Bar Blaise and maybe Pansy, he wouldn't see any of them again if he could help it. </p><p>Perhaps he'd move to America. They were notably absent from the entire wizarding war, so they'd be largely unaware of his role in it, and whilst his father had some business there, the Malfoy name wasn't all too known. It'd be a pain to build his reputation from scratch, but he supposed it was better than the relentless whispers and anxious stares. </p><p>Sometimes he contemplated trying to seem crueler so people wouldn't even dare to look at him, like Lucius before the war, but he assumed that wouldn't bode well with the Ministry. Waltzing around snarling at anything that moves would only stick him at the very top of their watch list. That was one of the last things he wanted.</p><p>"You say this now," Pansy replied after a moment, stabbing a roast potato with her fork and eyeing him carefully, "but I can guarantee you'll be complaining by the end of the week."</p><p>"I told you, I don't care."</p><p>"Not right now. But, soon."</p><p>He rolled his eyes and loosened his tie, scoffing as he noted the irony behind Pansy insisting that Granger would be the one to drive him up the wall. </p><p>Sweet Merlin. If one of his closest friends was this frustrating already, maybe she was right. Granger would be torture.</p><p>The remainder of the meal was silent, in the sense that everybody was talking, but Draco wasn't really listening. Partially because he didn't care enough to pay attention, and because he was subtly concerned that he might be the occasional topic of conversation, but primarily because his mind was elsewhere. </p><p>He was pretty sure that, at the height of the battle, he'd hexed a few of his own classmates in the exact spot he was sitting. He'd watched his own aunt, as delirious as she might've been, crumble into nothingness, mere dust on the floor. He'd felt the smooth length of Nagini's body brush against his ankles, heard the occasional cry of horror from children as young as 12 years old, smelled the iron from masses of blood that rivalled the pool in the Manor's dining room. </p><p>Dumbledore's death was different, at least. He had Moaning Myrtle to confide in about that, as irritating as she was. She let him bloody cry and complain for weeks on end, with no signs of over-exaggerated pity or ridicule. Whiny or not, he supposed he owed her for that. </p><p>There was no equivalent to Myrtle after the battle, though. As helpful as she was, he couldn't really stand her all that much, and what he was thinking now was much more intense. Much too intense for the ghost of a child to deal with. At least in terms of the Dumbledore situation, it was something he hadn't done yet. Anticipation was the feeling that overwhelmed him most. </p><p>But the battle was real. The battle had happened. As clear as day, he could remember the pounding of his heart against his ribcage, the whiteness of his knuckles as he clung to his wand as though his life depended on it, because it did, really. His professor had been murdered right in front of him on his table.  His classmates had been held hostage and tortured in his home, and as much as he loathed them, that was definitely one of many things that haunted him still.</p><p>The list was endless. It was no longer a case of necessity, as it had felt like in his sixth year. As sick as it was, it probably would've counted for something if Voldemort won. At least, that way, he could live the lie that he'd experienced all of this for a purpose, for a cause, whether it was a good one or not. But the Dark Lord merely felt like an inconvenience, now. The passion he'd felt for muggle inferiority had fizzled away. All of it was for nothing.</p><p>He furrowed his eyebrows, nudging Blaise away when he asked what was wrong. That was a horrible thing to think. He was happy Voldemort was dead. His family had limited punishment, and for the first time in his life, it was like a great weight had been lifted off their shoulders. </p><p>But that weight was only replaced with another one. And another, and another, and yet another, as more tragic and unsettlingly familiar war tales were spread, and more Malfoy slander was scribed in the Daily Prophet almost weekly. The relief was temporary. For Draco, time wasn't a healer at all. In fact, the more time passed, the guiltier he felt, and the stronger the nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.</p><p>It was there now, lingering in his abdomen, a permanent reminder of what had long since passed, as if his mark wasn't enough. Like clockwork, he felt the hint of a phantom burn on his forearm, something that he found to be a psychological effect of the mark. Every time he thought of it, it was as though it was reading his mind, as a sharp tingling sensation would ripple across his skin as if to prove that it was still there. He was unsure whether this was a feature added by the Dark Lord himself, or simply the natural effects of such severely dark magic.</p><p>It made no difference. Either way, it was still a pain in the arse. Especially since the bloody thing rarely left his mind.</p><p>Pansy had given up on trying to make him "see sense", or whatever it was that she'd muttered under her breath, leaving him a dangerous amount of time to take in his surroundings. Those who had reconstructed Hogwarts had done a particularly perfect job with the Great Hall, but that was likely because there wasn't a large deal of actual fighting or destruction in there. Not in comparison to the rest of the school, anyway. It had the most wards, and was used primarily for trying to resuscitate any casualties or heal any wounds, so he'd assumed that McGonagall had simply tried to direct the death eaters elsewhere. </p><p>It had worked, clearly. There was hardly a crack in the walls, and the charm on the ceiling hadn't faltered at all. </p><p>Lucky fucker of a building. Got over the damage in a mere few months. </p><p>He'd noticed that the hall was half empty now, the professors themselves preparing to leave. And yet, he could've sworn only five minutes had passed.</p><p>It was time to face the music, he supposed. He'd have to settle in sooner or later, and putting it off didn't make it any less real. </p><p>Besides, Pansy and Blaise had gone now, so he was alone anyway. There was likely an aspiring journalist or two amongst the student body, and he wasn't about to sit and wait for someone to make up some brand new headline for him. 'Malfoy heir so evil that his friends abandoned him' or some other bullshit. </p><p>It took him a good twenty minutes to find the Heads' tower. Having never expected to secure the position, he'd never made an effort to know it's whereabouts. </p><p>The woman in the portrait was one who he knew to be Helga Hufflepuff, for whatever reason. He hadn't noticed any portraits of the other 3 founders throughout the castle, but he could've sworn it was her. Like a younger, female Santa Claus, rosy-cheeked and smiling, and, naturally, donning a set of yellow robes. He rolled his eyes at how obliviously warm her grin was, muttering the password and slipping through the door. </p><p>The moment he stepped foot through the door, he began to wonder whether the years of doing Voldemort's bidding had turned him positively nutty. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Granger's luggage was still at what he presumed to be her bedroom door, stacked carelessly against the wall, some horrid ginger creature dominating the mountain of cases. It eyed him carefully as he began to cross the room, and he stopped.</p><p>Animals weren't exactly prone to liking him. His history of positive interaction with magical beings was far overshadowed by the negative. Even now, whatever was watching over the luggage pile made a low growl, a warning against his owner's possessions. Or, perhaps it merely wasn't a people person. That was equally plausible, judging by the look of it. He didn't suppose many humans even wanted to be near it. </p><p>With or without her knight in shining fur, Granger wouldn't leave her belongings in the common room like that. Not when she was well aware that it was shared with himself. Merlin, the girl couldn't even sit on the same end of a carriage as him, let alone leave her things lying around for him to peer at. </p><p>Perhaps it was a test. The second his fingertip touched a single case, the whole lot would vanish, and McGonagall would enter, shaking her head and declaring that he'd clearly not let go of his scheming ways and he couldn't even last a few hours without trying to torment the Golden Girl. </p><p>Nonetheless, curiosity overcame him, and he crossed the room in a few long strides. The cat-rat-thing hopped off the pile and sauntered across to an armchair, clearly no longer bothered, and he braced himself. He touched the topmost bag and flinched.</p><p>Nothing. No old woman appearing, lecture already on the tip of her tongue. No Granger whining about invasion of privacy and whatnot. They were left completely unguarded.</p><p>With that new morsel of information, he could only conjure up one explanation: she hadn't arrived yet. He must've been blind, or stupid, because he could've sworn she'd almost sprinted out of the hall over an hour earlier, and yet, she was nowhere to be seen. </p><p>Probably complaining to the Headmistress already. He'd given her the benefit of the doubt before, watching as she hadn't instantly gone to whine to McGonagall after his (temporarily half-hearted) attempts at teasing her. That was on the train, though. Maybe being on the grounds themselves was like a trigger, dredging up all of the positively brilliant memories they'd made here. People changed their minds every day. So could she. </p><p>Draco laughed out loud then, rolling his eyes at himself. He was Head Boy. He'd reached his oldest goal and yet, here he was, focusing his attention on a damn muggle-born. </p><p>He swiftly reminded himself that he ought not to think like that anymore. Old habits died hard. </p><p>After muttering a string of obscenities towards the creature on the chair, still staring accusingly at him, he dragged his own bags and owl cage into his room, one by one. </p><p>The cage was empty, his bird most likely in the owlery, the place it mostly inhabited during his stay at Hogwarts. Who would he send letters to anyway? Besides, he hadn't even wanted an owl. Especially after third year. He'd grown a severe sense of loathing against beaked beasts ever since. </p><p>Initially, an 11-year-old Draco had begged his parents for a cat. Primarily Narcissa, as she would always be the one to give in, but every time he thought he'd finally won her over, Lucius would remind him that cats were for the muggles and muggle-lovers alike, and any self-respecting wizard would own an animal far less basic than a damned house cat. This logic never swayed his opinion on the creatures, but he couldn't defy his father. </p><p>He bought Hercules a few weeks later, far before he was due to start Hogwarts, just for a little bonding with the animal. That day was likely the most attention he'd ever given the thing. It was bitter and snappy, and it did it's job, but was a particularly foul thing to be around. But, it made his father happy, so he'd kept his mouth shut.</p><p>Now, he was stuck with it.</p><p>He'd been hoping for a while that Hercules would get too old and kick the bucket, but he was still going strong. His name was clearly fitting. </p><p>So, he had to deal with the swift bites every time he tried to feed the bird, and constant squawking in the middle of the night, which would likely irritate him a lot more if he wasn't already awake most of the time. </p><p>Speaking of which, he supposed it would be best to get some rest. As much as he could, anyway. As little as he usually got, he'd managed to have even less sleep the night prior, and he didn't want to have to drag himself into potions the next morning. Instant sign of weakness. </p><p>He opened what he assumed to be the door to his bedroom and dragged his luggage inside. He'd unpack tomorrow. A distraction was the last thing he needed. </p><p>He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, smoothing his hand across the sheets. Not silk, not like his own bed at home, but they'd do. Perhaps a little change would have a good impact anyway. </p><p>He kicked off his shoes and tossed his robes over a chair, summoning grey cotton pyjama pants from his case. He hadn't even stopped to survey what his room looked like, made no mental notes on what to change, no efforts to double check that McGonagall hadn't thrown a bit of scarlet into the colour scheme just to wind him up. Tomorrow would give him plenty of room to complain, but at that moment, his eyelids were heavy and he was suppressing a yawn. </p><p>Draco peeled back the covers and slipped inside, internally thankful for the obvious warming charm. The air had already began to harshen, and with the castle being made mostly out of stone, it didn't have the greatest insulation. You'd think that a school full of witches and wizards with almost unlimited ability would've thought to fix that issue, by now. </p><p>His eyes fixated on the wooden pattern at the top of his canopy bed. There were engravings that he could barely discern, odd patterns or pictures. He noticed a phoenix. That was all he could make out. He picked up his wand from his bedside table and lit it, holding it up a little to illuminate the wood. </p><p>There had to be hundreds of carved images, all small and seemingly insignificant. There was no story to them, he reckoned. They were merely for decoration, but trying to deduce what each carving was supposed to be was quite calming. It wasn't long until his eyelids grew even heavier, and he drifted right off to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>It took even less time for him to wake again.</p><p>It seemed that magic folk didn't know how to sound-proof, either, because he could hear the creaking of the portrait door all too clearly.</p><p>It was either Granger or an intruder, and he wasn't sure which one sounded more appealing. </p><p>He was awake now, anyway. He peeled back the covers and tiptoed over to his window, pulling back a curtain and peering through the darkness. He could just make out the hands on the clock tower. 1:45am,  and yet she was only just tiptoeing in. It couldn't have been a secret rendezvous with Weasley, as he was almost certain that the redhead had opted against returning for their final year. </p><p>He contemplated yanking his door open and screaming at her for waking him up at this ruddy time of night, but he decided against it, for two reasons. Firstly, that meant having to talk to Granger, and he frankly couldn't be arsed with her. Secondly, to be truthful, he probably would've woken up with or without the disruption. He supposed it wasn't really fair to rant at her for being a catalyst for the inevitable. </p><p>But, again, neither was anything else he'd ever said to her. He wasn't about to start being reasonable now. Just because he didn't see her as racially impure, doesn't mean her personality didn't drive him up the wall.</p><p>He flung open his bedroom door and was met with the soft click of hers. He'd just missed her. He'd simply have to wait 'til the morning to confront her and whine about her mysterious late-night trip, that, he hoped, wouldn't become habit. It had better not. How could improve his sleeping pattern if she was going to start creeping around the dorm every night? </p><p>Shutting the door again, taking no care to do so peacefully in hopes that he'd irritate her right back, he retreated to the comfort of his bed. So much for having enough sleep for his first day back. There'd likely be a charm or two that'd help him look a little more lively, he reckoned. The bags under his eyes were a lost cause, but he reckoned he'd be able to cast a glamour or two to make his complexion a little less pale and his cheeks a little less hollow. Anything to stop the stares. It was bad enough with Narcissa badgering him to eat more and study less, so he wasn't quite so keen on the idea of everyone else making a big deal out of it too.</p><p>It took two hours for him to finally drift off; record time for that month, he reckoned. When he slept, he dreamt of the battle. He saw Potter limp in Hagrid's arms, the victorious sneers on the faces of the Death Eaters, the defeated look in his parents' eyes. The awkward 'welcoming' embrace the Dark Lord gifted him with was nowhere near the worst part. No, that was reserved for the moment he stepped outside and heard Voldemort's triumphant roar, the moment he realised that, whilst it looked like he'd won, he'd felt like he lost. </p><p>Though he could still clearly recall that said moment had a happy ending, he never seemed to remember it in his dream state. When he was asleep, there was no miracle recovery, no last fight. When he was asleep, Potter was dead. Really dead. Contrary to his constant (albeit meaningless) threats over the previous years, that wasn't what he wanted. Potter was, by far, the lesser of the two evils. As smug and insufferable as he was, there was something inside of Draco that broke a little more every time he dreamt that he was gone, because with him gone, so was the hope. </p><p>It was nowhere near his most haunting dream, but he still woke up panting and drenched in sweat every time. He realised, though, that in the comfort of the Head Boy's dorm, it ached a little less. This was a luxury he never would've had if Voldemort had succeeded. In his own bed at home, however, it was much more difficult to drag himself back to reality, because for all he knew, the Death Eaters were still in the dining hall below him. </p><p>He supposed his situation wasn't so bad, after all. No matter how frustrating she was, the fact still stood that Hermione Granger was a far better alternative to the Dark Lord. The thought made him almost grateful for having to put up with her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was hailing inside. That was the only explanation. That, or a meteor shower, because Hermione woke to an incessant thumping against her bedroom door, obnoxiously loud. Rolling over with a hefty groan, she fumbled around for her watch.</p><p>6am. Classes didn't start until 8:30. There was absolutely no reason for her to be up at this time, and she wasn't about to waste precious sleep. </p><p>It took another two minutes of mysterious banging for her to drag herself out of bed, wrap a robe around her body and fling her door open, shielding herself from what she was sure would be an impending attack.</p><p>Nothing came, and she lowered her arms to find that the door seemed to be vibrating with noise on its own. The common room was in order, and the roof was still very much intact, with no sign of a sudden natural disaster. </p><p>Then, as Hermione Granger was famed for, she had an idea. Withdrawing her wand, she pressed the tip against her door and muttered "Finite Incantatem", and, just as she suspected, the tower fell into that blissful silence she knew and loved. Typical rodent couldn't even last 24 hours without having to cause some sort of stir. </p><p>The man himself popped his head around the door of their shared bathroom then, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. He took one glance at the now-still door, another at Hermione, and rolled his eyes, platinum hair disappearing back into the room. </p><p>It only took twenty seconds for his head (and the rest of him) to re-emerge, sauntering towards her, fully dressed in an all-black suit that she vaguely remembered him always wearing. Contrary to their earlier years at Hogwarts, his hair was free of product, now, falling loosely over his forehead, and he seemed an awful lot fresher than the previous day, for someone who was up and about at 6 in the morning. </p><p>"Not nice, is it?"</p><p>In her half-asleep, half-bewildered state, Hermione had failed to notice that Malfoy had been eyeing her in amusement for a solid two minutes. The deep drawl of his voice woke her up a little, and she quickly stood to attention, trying to straighten herself up.</p><p>Her attempts were in vain. Her hair was an eyesore in the mornings, and her glamours from the previous day had most definitely worn off. She was expecting a witty, derogatory insult within the next three minutes, at most. She was handing it to him on a plate. </p><p>"What isn't?"</p><p>"Oh, only being woken up at an inane hour for no reason at all, that's what. I don't understand how you can create an entire organisation against 'cruelty' to a load of wrinkly little imps, yet you can't even close a bloody door quietly when the specie that matters is trying to sleep."</p><p>"I'd hardly say you matter, Malfoy." She scoffed at what she assumed to be another bout of his usual egotistical rambling, but it came out a little harsher than expected. The blonde seemed unfazed though, taking three or four steps towards her and crossing his arms, nodding his head towards her bedroom door.</p><p>"Oh, I'm the one that doesn't matter? Do ask yourself, then, why do you reckon I cast a charm on your door instead of simply knocking on it myself? You're not even worth my attention for the couple of minutes it took to wake you up."</p><p>"Well, I think that plotting this whole thing in the first place counts as attention, Malfoy." She bit back, but he was already strolling off towards their small kitchenette, ignoring her poor excuse for a retort. </p><p>Again, she reminded herself that he could easily still be a very dangerous individual. Whether it was her stubborn trait, or the fact that she didn't wholly believe he was a malicious person, something compelled her to continue the debate. </p><p>There was something about Malfoy that prevented her from being able to tear herself away from an argument with him. Even in their first few years, whilst enduring his constant slurs and torment, she'd continue the argument, just to get one over on him.</p><p>Bickering with Malfoy had a similar effect to when you'd argue with somebody and, though you were getting nowhere, you'd be so insistent that you were right that you'd carry it on for hours and hours, just for the satisfaction of having the last word. Hermione had to shut him down, every time. Not because she valued his opinion, but rather because that boy deserved to be knocked down a peg or two, and she wasn't about to follow the trend amongst the rest of the love-struck females and be the carpet he walked all over. If there was any given opportunity to prove that Malfoy was wrong, she'd be there. </p><p>It wasn't quite so fulfilling when he wasn't arguing back. </p><p>"You could've just let me know. I would've apologised."</p><p>"Where's the fun in an apology, Granger? I'll live a perfectly happy life with no sorries from you. Besides," he plucked an apple up from the fruit bowl, tossing it up in the air and catching it again repeatedly, his own little stationary game of catch, "I hardly think being dragged back into consciousness in the middle of the night merits a mere apology. I think my way of doing things was fair." He paused, leaning back against the counter and propping himself up on his elbows. "Fairer, in fact. I know I'd rather be woken up at 6am than half bloody one."</p><p>"Oh, get over yourself," she snapped, wrapping her bathrobe more tightly around herself as she became rapidly aware of what had to be sub-zero temperature. </p><p>"You're the one trailing after me when I have places to be. I've moved on from it. It's your turn to get over yourself." He said pointedly, taking a knife out of the wooden rack on the counter and cutting his apple into slices. The brunette watched incredulously, unsure of whether she should drag the debate on or simply let it go.</p><p>She quickly concluded that she was much too exhausted to choose the former option. </p><p>"Where are these places?" She asked, but he only stared at her for a moment before popping an apple slice into his mouth and striding over to the portrait door. Calling out his surname brought her no response, and her heart rate increased as he slipped through the hole without a second glance. </p><p>No matter how much time had passed since, she was still well aware of what occurred the last time Draco Malfoy was off sneaking around in the halls at ridiculous times of the day. There was something disconcerting about the way he looked at her when she asked where he was headed - as if the fact that he didn't even answer wasn't enough of a giveaway. </p><p>If she stayed, it'd drive her crazy. If she went, she could be getting herself into trouble.</p><p>Luckily for her, she'd spent the prior night dwelling over the more exhilarating adventures with Harry and Ron. This was no Golden Trio escapade, but it was intriguing, if a little frightening. It was the infamous Draco Malfoy, after all. Classmate or not, she didn't know what he was capable of.</p><p>After leaving it an extra minute for good measure, she patted her pocket to ensure that her wand was with her and, when she felt the familiar protrusion against her palm, she snuck out of the common room, letting the portrait door close with a gentle click. </p><p>The Heads' tower was situated at the end of its own long hallway, a feature that she found to be particularly helpful at that moment. The infinitesimal number of attached corridors near their tower meant there was a limited amount of routes Malfoy could've taken. That way, there was less chance that she could've lost him. </p><p>As she tiptoed towards the end of the hallway, ducking into the shadows, she mused over which path was the best one to take next, quickly deciding to simply turn left. The one on the right led to the kitchens, and she highly doubted he'd be fully dressed in a suit at 6am for a mere early-morning snack, especially since he'd sliced an apple right before he left.</p><p>No, the better option was most definitely to turn left.</p><p>It was only after three paces down the next hallway that she began to feel eerily uncomfortable. Perhaps it was due to her inexperience with roaming the halls at 6 in the morning. The castle was positively congested with ghosts, after all. Not to mention the portraits that had an unnerving tendency to eye you everywhere you went.</p><p>No. It wasn't that.</p><p>"You took longer than I expected, Granger, I'll grant you that."</p><p>Shit.</p><p>Spinning slowly on her heel, she met the eye of Malfoy himself, peering at him cautiously from underneath her hood. He was leaning casually against the wall of the hallway that had been to her right, waiting for her to trail after him, as it seemed. She swallowed, as quietly as possible, before taking a few steps towards him, pulling her robe more tightly around herself, as though it were for security, because the silver glint in his eye was mildly perturbing. </p><p>"I don't quite know what you mean. What are you still doing, lingering back here? You left ages ago." The moment the words left her lips, she knew her lie was in vain. Malfoy had a way of looking as though he was mocking you without moving a single muscle on his face. Maybe it was that glint in his eye, after all. Or, she'd become so accustomed to his taunts that she seemed to know what he was thinking before he even moved his lips.</p><p>Either way, he was doing it now, she was sure. He observed her from the shadows, left hand playing with the signet ring on his right. Hermione watched him as he said nothing, uncertain of whether she preferred his eerie silence or petty teasing.</p><p>She'd well and truly blown it. He was going to hex her until she saw stars, or hang her from the ceiling by her ankles and invite Rita Skeeter to take a pretty picture or two. Adventure alone wasn't quite so fun, after all. She never got caught with Harry and Ron. </p><p>After what felt like a good five minutes, Malfoy finally pushed off from the wall, striding straight past her without so much as a second glance, and she turned to watch him. She hesitated, and thought, she’d been discovered anyway. What was the harm?</p><p>"Where are you going?" She repeated, and, this time, he actually stopped. Another pause. Then, he turned his full body around to face her, running a hand through his hair, lips emitting a throaty chuckle. </p><p>"There is no third vanishing cabinet, if that's what you're asking.” His voice had a certain tone to it, but one that she didn’t recognise. It sounded bitter, but mildly defensive. “Can't a man go for a walk at dawn without an interrogation?" He decidedly didn't wait for an answer, turning back around and striding away down the hallway. Hermione didn't stop him this time. It only took a moment for her to regain composure and retreat to the common room.</p><p>When she arrived, she shut the door and slumped into an armchair, drawing her wand and muttering a simple incendio spell to light the fireplace. The room would take a long time to heat up, she knew, and that didn't matter. She rarely lit fires for the warmth, but for the sight of the dancing flames licking the top of the hearth. It was simple, but it soothed her when she had something on her mind, the flickering being almost hypnotic. </p><p>In the pre-war days, she'd often doze off in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room whilst talking with her friends, usually waking up covered in a blanket. She'd always know whether it was Harry or Ron, primarily since Harry lay it gently across her body, whereas Ron had an especially tight tucking technique that he'd once said Molly had used when he was a child. Though she typically woke up completely unable to move, it was the thought that counted.</p><p>Those were sweeter times though. Sleep felt more like a luxury than anything, now, and when it came, it had company - that being the dreaded evocation of the Wizarding War.</p><p>It wasn't hard to sleep. If she wanted, she could nestle in her bed and be flat-out unconscious in mere minutes. The problem was that she didn't want to. You'd think that replaying a moment almost daily for months would make it lose it's touch, but it wasn't really replaying if, each time, the sadistic sneers grew wider and their eyes grew darker and that damned chandelier loomed even more precariously above her. </p><p>Sometimes, the dreams changed. Never to pleasant ones, though - but to those of Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Fred, Remus, Tonks. Snape dying as Harry fumbled around to cover his wounds.</p><p>Harry had spoken to her about that, not too long after the battle. It was one of those situations, he decided, where you don't know what you had until it was gone. The painful truth was that, Snape protected Harry, for the entirety of his time at Hogwarts - longer, for all they knew. And yet, the boy didn't have an opportunity to appreciate it until it was too late. </p><p>She recalled the conversation then, outside of the burrow, staring into the horizon as dusk broke out across the sky, illuminating it with hues of indigo and lilac. So many tears shed had left her best friend a wreck, but a numb wreck, at that. His eyes had expressed his sorrow, but his stoney countenance never faltered. She remembered him reminiscing over his first potions lesson, muttering angrily how Snape said from the beginning that he'd teach him to put a stopper on death, and how he'd failed him.</p><p>All Hermione could do was hold him until the sun came up, and they never spoke of Severus again.</p><p>Those dreams weren't nearly as bad. Though the moments themselves were intense, in the dreams she was merely a spectator. It was though she were watching a movie with a spectacularly tragic ending, when, in reality, she was in said movie.</p><p>The one at the Manor was one that she truly experienced. She felt the tip of the dagger, the striking coldness of the floor against her back, the heat of Lestrange's breath against her face, and each time, it seemed a little clearer. Though it went against all logic, she occasionally wondered if, one time, she'd dream, and it wouldn't end. A haunting loop of pain and shame and hopelessness. </p><p>Ginny's knowledge of the nightmares felt like a necessity. It always had. Hermione's intentions had never been to let anybody know, but it was unavoidable if the two girls were to share the room. The redhead hadn't checked up on her for a while, though. She probably assumed that they'd stopped. </p><p>There was one moment, a brief flicker of understanding in George's eyes, when Hermione descended the stairs of the Burrow one morning, before she'd begun to apply glamours to hide her drained features. He'd been at the table, staring blankly at a Daily Prophet article on the rising value of the sickle which she was certain he wouldn't really be reading. Once she'd appeared in his peripheral vision, he met her eye, gave a tight-lipped smile, nodded once, and went back to staring. That was the first time since before the war that George had smiled, as forced as it was. It was also the last time Hermione went anywhere without a glamour. </p><p>Her throat constricted as she made an effort not to cry, and she rose suddenly from the armchair, heading towards the kitchenette for a glass of water. Pouring one, she leaned against the kitchen cabinet, making the most of the opportunity to observe what would act as her home for the next year. </p><p>It was a perfectly pleasant room, really. Small, of course, but nothing extravagant was needed for two people, unless Malfoy decided he wanted a full-blown steak with all the trimmings every night, or lobster thermidor, or whatever snobs like himself ordered to be cooked up when they were feeling mildly peckish. The cupboards and counters were a deep ebony, the counters themselves topped with a white marble surface. A combination of both light and dark. How ironic.</p><p>She ran her hand across the countertop and came to a stop when she reached the discarded apple on the cutting board, every slice still there with the exception of the one Malfoy ate.</p><p>Typical privileged pureblood, wasting food. She scooped the leftover slices into her hand and tossed them into the bin. She'd have a word with him, but he'd likely retaliate by leaving old bits of fruit under her pillow or something, and she also wasn't particularly prepared to face him voluntarily after being caught tailing him. Therefore, as always, Draco Malfoy won again.</p><p>Once again came the faint surge of guilt, the slight nausea at the back of her throat. She noted that he'd yet to call her a mudblood, and, though she knew that was setting the bar incredibly low, she supposed it was something. After all, she did distinctly recall how he'd initially been stood with the Hogwarts students instead of his family at the final battle. Yes, her expectations were low, but he'd exceeded them. Either he was taking baby steps toward redemption, or he wasn't settled in enough to revert back to his old self yet. Only time would tell.</p><p>All she knew was, perhaps Draco Malfoy wasn't the ruthless criminal she'd assumed he was the night prior. Still an arrogant, cruel git, of course, but if she'd learned anything lately, it was that everyone had the capacity to change. Even if that somebody was a former death eater - and the jury was still out on the 'former' part. Maybe the death eater bit was arguable, too. </p><p>Hermione wasn't about to bite off more than she could chew, though. There was to be no friendliness, not only because she was wary of him, but because she didn't want to befriend the likes of Malfoy. Many of his little jabs at her appearance or her blood status were still engraved into her brain - invisible scars were equally difficult to get rid of.</p><p>Achieving a level of mutual respect so that they could perform Head duties to the best of their abilities was ideal, but a pipe dream. Not only would Malfoy never meet her halfway, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go the distance herself. Hermione was all for forgiveness, but forgetting is an entirely different ballpark.</p><p>There was no point in trying to sleep. There was only an hour left until she'd be due to wake up, anyway. Besides, an early awakening on her first day could give her additional time to freshen up, perhaps have more than one cup of coffee. Not that it excused Malfoy's childish attempts at payback for a perfectly innocent mistake, but she could at least make the most of it. Her personal first-edition copy of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' was practically pleading for her to pluck it off her shelf, anyway.</p><p>The Slytherin himself failed to reappear until Hermione was already dressed and ready to leave, presumably because all that had to be done was a change from his suit to his uniform in order to be presentable for class. She'd decided to fit in a few more pages of reading before she had to set off to her first lesson, and she peered at him over her book as he emerged from his room, straightening his tie.</p><p>There was no evil glint in his eye, nor was there a haunted stare. Though being infuriatingly deceptive was one of Malfoy's most prominent traits, there were no telltale signs to indicate that his claims of taking a 'walk' were anything less than true. She could interrogate him, ask him for details, try to catch him in a lie, but on the off-chance that he was being honest, it'd only be much more humiliating for her.</p><p>"Is staring when you have something you'd like to say a trait of Gryffindors in general, or are you just plain odd?" His voice cut through her speculations, and her eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. Her mind had apparently wandered whilst she was observing him, losing the alertness required to avert her eyes whenever he turned. He'd caught her. Again. Just as he had on the Hogwarts Express, and whilst he'd been speaking with McGonagall.</p><p>"I just..." she cleared her throat, an insufficient diversion whilst she tried to conjure up a question. "Do you know when we're meant to give the prefects their schedules?"</p><p>"Were you simply not paying attention when the Headmistress was going through this on the train? Or are you simply brain-dead." </p><p>"Don't get your hopes up, Malfoy, I know how desperate you are to be top of the class."</p><p>He rolled his eyes and headed for the portrait door, but her soft (albeit mildly impatient) 'ahem' led him to turn around again.</p><p>"8pm tonight, in Classroom 5A."</p><p>Hermione nodded. Their tower was also on the fifth floor, so it made sense that the prefect meeting room would be nearby.</p><p>She stopped him again as he turned to exit once more, and he sighed audibly this time, glowering at her. "What?"</p><p>"Shouldn't we ought to meet here after classes? You know, to actually decide on a schedule? It'd be rather pointless of us to attend this meeting without one."</p><p>"For fuck's sake, fine, anything else?"</p><p>She blinked at him. "No."</p><p>"Splendid," he clipped, actually disappearing behind the portrait door, this time. Hermione waited for a few moments, so as not to recreate the little scene from two hours prior, before leaving for class herself.</p><p>It was a surprise to see Professor Slughorn back in his old position at the front of her potions class, as jittery and timid as ever. For some reason, she'd expected the intensity of the battle to shock the man back into the hole he'd crawled out of when he'd rejoined the staff in her sixth year. However, here he stood, eyes gleaming with excitement even behind the anxious twitching and half-smile.</p><p>The classroom was uncontrollable. This class was a mix of both Gryffindors and Slytherins, and both houses apparently hadn't gotten the months worth of catching up out of their systems at dinner the previous night, or at breakfast. The animated chatter of students seem to overwhelm Slughorn, who was gazing in bewilderment at the class, mouth hanging open.</p><p>It took ten minutes for conversations to die down, but Hermione almost wished they'd taken longer. There was to be no brewing that lesson - Slughorn rather insisted that they should cover classified potions, such as the Exstimulo Potion, and the reasons why they were mostly banned. The brunette couldn't see the point behind learning this if they wouldn't be able to brew any of them anyway, but she held her tongue, knowing nobody would be too pleased with her for criticising an easy lesson. It was a 'chance to relax', as Ginny put it. </p><p>Hermione couldn't understand for the life of her why people already needed to relax on their very first lesson, but she didn't comment.</p><p>The lesson ended after her usual share of groans and eye-rolls after her surplus of knowledge on the topic, but her high spirits never wavered. The next lesson was alchemy, her personal subject choice due to her fascination with healing. Perhaps that'd be the career path she chose, but she didn't know, yet. Being a mediwitch involved healing one person at a time, and for Hermione, that simply wasn't enough. </p><p>Being an Auror was out of the question for her. She was gifted with extraordinary levels of intellect, and the required skill set for Aurors was primarily athleticism, and quick reflexes. Though consistently ridding the world of evil technically saved many people, her talents would be wasted there. </p><p>No. Healing was her best option. During the war, Death Eaters had begun to create their own hexes and curses, which each required their own counter-spells. Her abilities might be useful if anybody latched onto this idea and developed more. After all, there were still a couple of uncaptured dangerous men and women. </p><p>Alchemy went hand in hand with this career, and besides, the subject interested her anyhow. It required a lot of brain power, and, as stressful as it often was, there was nothing Hermione loved using more than her brain. </p><p>The sheer amount of energy required for a decent grade in this subject was the most prominent reason why she was beside herself with confusion when she locked eyes with Malfoy from across the room the moment she entered the class. Despite her assumptions that he was likely pressured to do well by his family, this was not a lesson she'd think he be interested in, since it was primarily philosophical. Her bewilderment must've been evident on her features, because the blonde cocked an eyebrow, seeming mildly exasperated at her staring.</p><p>Still, she offered him no explanation, settling down at the desk directly behind him. It was either that, or sit beside Millicent Bulstrode. He was the lesser of two evils. Plus, Hermione still hadn't fully recovered from her accidental dress-up as the girl's cat. </p><p>She paused to contemplate why Millicent was even taking alchemy, let alone Malfoy, since she wasn't exactly the brightest spark, but she didn't waste much thought on it. Professor Abernathy was a stark contrast to Slughorn, setting the class a test to determine their current level of knowledge, to which a pair of Hufflepuffs had a lot to say. </p><p>In front of her, Malfoy didn't move an inch. No whine of protest, no veiled threat. He merely plucked his quill from behind his ear and wordlessly scribbled his name at the top of the parchment the professor handed out, entire body hunched forward over the desk. Hermione briefly wondered whether this was what she looked like, always so eager to prove her worth. </p><p>Quickly averting her eyes from Malfoy's still form, she signed her own name at the top of the page, a triumphant grin settling on her lips as she scanned the list of questions and noticed that the test was child's play. </p><p>That didn't mean she should be allowed to relax. Looking around the room, she noted that there were at least 7 students who were clearly ill-informed of just how difficult alchemy was, as she distinctly recalled them all being rather dense. Maybe the test was designed to separate those from the rest of the class. Professor Abernathy was new, after all. Soon, he'd become accustomed to everyone's skill sets, and then she'd really have her work cut out for her.</p><p>She completed her assessment with 34 minutes to spare, of the 2-hour-long lesson. When she lifted her head, she found that Malfoy seemed to be done too, slouching back in his chair and twirling his quill around between his thumb and index finger. So much for being the brightest witch of her age. He was beating her already, only one day into the year. Hopefully, he'd been careless and rushed it, making countless mistakes. </p><p>She had to stay on top. She couldn't give him another reason to taunt her.</p><p>Abernathy gestured for the pair to bring him their completed papers, and she rose from her chair hastily, bounding to the front of the classroom before Malfoy even had the opportunity to stand. He pointedly rolled his eyes at her as she walked past him, back down the aisle between two columns of desks, and she scowled at him. </p><p>Her paper was returned first, stamped with a large "O" for Outstanding. 46/50. She supposed that'd do.</p><p>Her glory was short-lived when Malfoy's test was returned to him ten minutes later, an approving grin on Abernathy's face. Her face fell, and she reached an arm forward, tapping him on the shoulder.</p><p>He made a show of sighing heavily before he turned in his seat to face her, face blank. Hope sparked within her. He couldn't have gotten that great of a score, else he'd have that typical snobbish, smug smirk on his face. </p><p>But he cast his gaze down to the big red score on her piece of parchment, and his lips curved into a grin before he turned back around. She almost bit out a remark about ignorance, until he held his test up over his shoulder, the scarlet numbers mocking her. </p><p>48/50.</p><p>"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" she hissed, earning a sharp "shh" from the professor. She shrivelled back into her chair, crossing her arms in indignation. When she hadn't been striving to restore her relationship with her parents, she'd been studying as though her life depended on it, and this was her reward?</p><p>Hermione Granger did not think for one second that she was a sore loser, but that was primarily because, before then, she'd never lost. </p><p>Professor Abernathy hadn't even finished his sentence whilst dismissing the class when she shot up from her chair, scooping her books up into a hideously untidy pile and, holding them against her chest, she swept out of the classroom without so much as a glance back.</p><p>She had a free period next, only it wouldn't be free at all, because she was already marching straight to her dorm to study. Draco Malfoy clearly wanted to take everything from her. Yes, that was his master plan, she was certain of it. First, he managed to weasel his way into the Head Boy position, and now he was trying to knock her down a level in class? No, she wouldn't stand for it.</p><p>Helga Hufflepuff looked distinctly concerned as she almost spat out the password, but her portrait swung open wordlessly nonetheless, and she sped over to the reading alcove nestled at the back of the common room. Upon her return from the library, she'd found a great deal of subject-related books arranged alphabetically in bookshelves around the room, anyway. She could lose herself in her revision in the safety of her own common room.</p><p>Without interruption from Malfoy, too, since she was certain Ginny had mentioned something about Quidditch tryouts earlier that morning. Unless he bought his way in once again, there was no doubt that he'd be there.</p><p>Perusing the bookshelf to the left of the alcove, she ran her fingers along the spines of the books, hand settling on Libatius Borage's 'Advanced Potion Making' and sliding it out of the shelf it was tucked in. She mentally commented on how ridiculous it was to include the word 'potion' in a book that also largely featured alchemy, as it was rather misleading, and she never would've found it if not for her extensive love of reading, but opened the book anyway, seating herself at the cushioned alcove and crossing her legs. She conjured a glass of water and flicked to the first page. </p><p>"Spagyric Alchemy." She read the first chapter title aloud, suppressing a sigh as her eyes skimmed paragraphs upon paragraphs full of information she'd already taught herself ten times over, but she reread it anyway, concentrating just as hard as she had the very first time. Clearly, she couldn't be that advanced, if she was being bested by the likes of Malfoy. As minuscule as they might be, she'd find the gaps in her knowledge, close them, and rejoice at the disconsolate expression on his face when she obliterated him in the next test.</p><p>That was how he found her at 5pm, eyes scouring the pages furiously, failing to even notice when he entered the common room.</p><p>"I don't know whether to laugh at how being beaten has already sent you into some sort of nerd frenzy, or feel offended that you're so shocked and appalled by me obliterating you that you're reacting this way. Either way, this is quite pathetic, Granger, really."</p><p>She scowled at him, deciding not to dignify his insult with a response, pupils never leaving the page. From the corner of her eye, she watched as he shifted, seemingly incapable of saying anything else until she shot a retort at him. Eventually, he sighed defeatedly, taking a couple of steps forward.</p><p>"What are you stuck on?"</p><p>This caught her attention, and she dragged her gaze from the book, meeting his eyes and making a mental note that he truly didn't look particularly happy with himself to be making friendly conversation. She wondered why he was. </p><p>"How did you know I'm stuck?"</p><p>Something flickered on his lips, and he jerked his head down to where her left hand lay wrapped around the book. "You're drumming your fingers on the cover. You do that when you're contemplating something." Her eyebrows knitted together, and she watched him, mildly perplexed at the way he said this so easily, as if it was a simple observation. Harry and Ron would never know she was stuck on something until her frustration reached the intensity wherein she’d snap at them for bothering her while she was trying to think. "I sat behind you in Divination, in third year." He explained. "Apparently, you weren't particularly good at it, because all I could hear each lesson was that damned tapping noise."</p><p>That was something she could believe. There were countless occasions in which she'd stayed awake until inane hours of the morning, analysing tarot reading methods and all sorts of nonsense she couldn't quite remember now, and she still didn't get it. She'd cursed herself many times since for wasting sleep whilst she had the chance to have a decent amount. </p><p>"Do you want me to test you?"</p><p>The brunette laughed, then, her body shaking so violently with the giggling that the book slid clean out of her lap and onto the floor, from where Malfoy picked it up. </p><p>"Seriously?"</p><p>He frowned. "What?"</p><p>"I know what you're trying to do."</p><p>Draco scoffed, repeating his question, only slightly more incredulously.</p><p>"You know what. You'll ask me trick questions and feed me false information, all to trip me up and consolidate your spot at number one. I see right through you, Draco Malfoy."</p><p>"Whatever, then." He shook his head. "Quite frankly, Granger, I wouldn't be able to fool you, even if I wanted to. You know the information. You just pressure yourself so hard that all prior knowledge goes completely out of the window. Start relaxing, and I won't win."</p><p>"And, how do you know that I pressure myself? Do you spend every lesson analysing my body language, Malfoy, or did you get this much from just the one?"</p><p>"No, Granger, the fact that you rushed out of class like a niffler'd just bitten you in the arse when you found out I scored higher than you, only to wind up here, three quarters of the way through a 900-page-book in a measly couple of hours, tells me everything I need to know. I'm simply perceptive. Try it, some time."</p><p>Her top teeth took to her lip, nibbling it as heat flickered beneath her cheeks whilst he watched her patiently. Not 12 hours ago she'd been contemplating forming at least an acquaintanceship with him, and yet, when the opportunity arose, she'd been so quick to doubt him. </p><p>Perhaps she wasn't the only one burdened with crippling regret, after the war.</p><p>"Fine." She exhaled, and he nodded once. "Ask me anything."</p><p>"Which colour sequence is the proper order of the stages of alchemical transmutation?"</p><p>"Black, white and red. Obviously."</p><p>He rolled his eyes at her comment, but gave no response. "Who is traditionally named the author of the Emerald Tablet?"</p><p>A pause, whilst she tried to recall his name. "Hermes Trismegistos." </p><p>"Merlin, you butchered that pronunciation."</p><p>Her turn to roll her eyes.</p><p>"What substance is required to achieve a successful transmutation?" </p><p>They continued this way for an hour, shooting questions and answers back and forth, Hermione quizzing Draco and vice versa, participating in the odd heated debate or two when one disagreed with the other's response. The questions grew increasingly harder, and then easier, as the pair gradually grew tired of wracking their brains for formulas and elements that were bound to never appear on their N.E.W.T.s. They collapsed by the fire, the blonde lounging on the couch with his legs up, the brunette tucked into the armchair that she'd already grown to favour.</p><p>"We should really make a schedule for the prefects."</p><p>"Done it."</p><p>Her eyes widened. "Pardon?"</p><p>"Yeah." He scratched his jaw, meeting her gaze with a careless shrug. "My Quidditch tryout was the first one, so I had nothing to do whilst everybody else was making a fool out of themselves in the air. I'm grateful we had to do it, really. Saved me a fair bit of boredom." He withdrew the slip of parchment from his pocket and handed it to her, waiting silently as her eyes flickered over the timetable. </p><p>"I'm assuming this is fortnightly?"</p><p>He nodded. "I know, it's quite tricky to read, I only had a small scrap of parchment on me."</p><p>She waved his half-apology away with her hand, scanning the names and the times until her eyes laid to rest on one spot.</p><p>"I'm not sure if this is a mistake, but we're meant to perform duties together once a week."</p><p>Malfoy shook his head. "I did the math. It worked out for us to have two days on the timetable, if each prefect had one turn of night patrol fortnightly. In pairs, obviously, as you can see." He gestured to the parchment. "I would've put everyone on a rota for the odd day out, but I thought you wouldn't mind the extra work, since you seem to thrive off that. Plus.." he scratched the back of his neck and averted his eyes, suddenly seemingly interested in a knot in the wooden flooring, "..I'm rather fortunate enough to land myself the role of Head Boy, anyway. I'd like to make the most of it, since I didn't really expect to be here."</p><p>A pause. He shifted in his seat, as though he were expecting her to launch a series of insults at him for forcing them together. She might've done, if he wasn't so open to doing it himself, because the fact that he volunteered the two of them implied that he thought they wouldn't have much trouble. Either that, or it was a trap, but the last time she accused him of being up to no good, he didn't seem too happy.</p><p>"Okay." She breathed, and he blinked at her. "Of course, we may have to swap around a couple of dates if they conflict with the schedules of any prefects, but this is a good plan to go off." Hermione hesitated, then revisited the fact that she originally assumed the boy facing her would slack on his Head duties, and yet, already, he'd beaten her to something. She swallowed. "Thank you, Malfoy. This is helpful." </p><p>The blonde froze momentarily, a flicker of surprise behind his eyes, but he regained composure just as quickly as he'd lost it and dipped his chin. She offered him a smile, and he didn't return it. </p><p>Baby steps, she reminded herself, and she stood.</p><p>"Right, well.. I suppose we'd best get going. Don't want to be late and set a bad example." She pointed out, and the Slytherin stood too, straightening his tie. </p><p>They arrived in the classroom just one minute early, as the prefects were filing in through the door. Ginny raised an eyebrow at Hermione after she and Draco managed to conduct an entire prefect meeting without a single insult, but the brunette merely shrugged in response. It was no big deal. They were eighth years, after all. It was about time they grew up. </p><p>Malfoy's schedule had helped tremendously. Aside from Luna's declaration that she couldn't patrol on Tuesday, since Tuesdays were prime hunting times for Wrackspurts, everyone was more than satisfied with their designated days, and the meeting was over in 20 minutes after Hermione reminded everybody of their overall duties. The group left contentedly, and she smiled to herself. Her first day of officially being Head Girl was successful.</p><p>She snapped out of her bliss when she found Draco watching her, nose wrinkled. "What are you doing?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You looked really excited over giving a bunch of teenagers instructions. It was weird. You're not on a power trip, are you?" He groaned. "Merlin help us all if Hermione Granger becomes our dictator."</p><p>She ignored how bizarre her forename sounded rolling off his tongue. "Oh, and I suppose you think you'd be better? I am not on a power trip. I'm just happy."</p><p>"To have power?"</p><p>She scowled. "To have influence. Good influence."</p><p>"Same thing."</p><p>Her mouth opened to retort, but she found no reason to object, so she snapped it shut again. He was right, in a sense. Being a muggle-born, she'd always felt inferior. Her choice of friendships in her first year didn't save her from years of feeling as though she was being looked down upon and underestimated. Even when she was praised for her intelligence, people spoke as though it was some form of miracle.</p><p>Hell, Malfoy was probably just as smart as she was, and she never heard him get any recognition for it. Then again, he was a pureblood. It was expected of him. </p><p>Now, she had a fair say. She'd worked her way to the top, and though it was of little significance - it was simply a role within school - she felt like she'd finally gotten somewhere. Damn straight she was going to enjoy her recognition. </p><p>There was no point in explaining it to him, though. His blood was pure. He wouldn't understand. Besides, he was already exiting the room, leaving her to her thoughts, it seemed. She exhaled, before following him, catching up to walk beside him.</p><p>"Granger. Our first shift isn't for four nights. Why are you walking with me?"</p><p>She frowned. Of course. And, to think, for the whole day, she’d been convincing herself that she had no reason to distrust him, so far. She was a fool to think his opinion had changed. "What, would you rather me walk two paces behind, like a good little mudblood?"</p><p>Malfoy looked as though she'd struck him, and he stopped in his tracks, clenching his jaw and staring at her, wide-eyed. He was going to say it, she was sure of it. He'd sneer at her, and the civility would disappear, just like that. </p><p>No sneer came, and for a moment, he looked hurt. Ashamed, almost. She felt sick - as she had that morning when she followed him, and found her suspicions to be wrong. </p><p>"No." He spoke slowly, as though he was picking his words with care. "I just assumed you wouldn't want to voluntarily walk with me, considering our history. I wouldn't expect you, of all people, to go about fraternising with the enemy." </p><p>She snorted. "The enemy? Don't be dramatic."</p><p>Hermione had said the wrong thing, she realised. Malfoy lowered his head, fringe flopping down to conceal his face, and he stuck his hands in his pockets. "I might be dramatic.." he swallowed, "..but you just accused me of being bigoted simply because I asked why you were choosing to join me, since you never have before. If I'm dramatic, what are you?"</p><p>"I'm being rational." She clipped, and she believed her own words. After seven years of merciless taunting from the man standing in front of her, she had more than enough reason to assume he wouldn't stop so easily. The guilt lingered in the pit of her belly nonetheless. </p><p>She heard him clear his throat. "Right. Well." He scratched his neck. "Honestly, Granger? I think if you wanted to be rational, you wouldn't have walked next to me in the first place. We just had an hour long study session without a single remark, and you still think I'm about to spit slurs in your face?"</p><p>"People don't change that quickly." Her attempts at sounding confident faltered, and her tone came out all wrong - anxious, even.</p><p>He stepped towards her, only a foot away now. He was slim, and his face was gaunt and hollow-cheeked, but he still gave every impression of massiveness as he towered over her, eyes burning with intent. "Are you sure? Because Potter banged on for years about how Hogwarts was his ‘home’, and yet, I still didn't see him on that platform yesterday." He scoffed, shaking his head at her. "You're bright, Hermione. You know people can try to change. It's just easier for you to believe that big bad Malfoy and his pureblood friends are all out to get you, so you can separate people into good and evil."</p><p>The image of him standing carelessly in the corner as she writhed on the floor under Bellatrix's wand flooded into her mind, and she tensed. "But you are bad, Malfoy." She bit out, regretting her words almost as instantly as she said them. He muttered something about ignorance, but she didn't quite catch it.</p><p>"I see. Thank you for reminding me." His voice had reverted to his typical drawl, and, stoney-eyed and tight-lipped, he spun on his heel and marched off down the corridor, leaving her lingering by the classroom, staring at the spot he'd occupied.</p><p> </p><p>                                       ∼ ❈ ∽</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>The crystalline shards of the chandelier swung back into view, reflecting beams of light onto the blackened walls, and she knew instantly where she was. She palmed at the marble floor in an effort to push herself up, but her body had been emptied of energy, consumed by the deathly grasp of the cruciatus curse, and so she remained flat on her back, vulnerable still. </i>
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  <i>That shrill, manic laugh rang in her ears, goosebumps forming on her arms, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It was going to happen either way, Watching would only make it worse.</i>
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  <i>But, when the footsteps grew louder, the hissing that typically accompanied it was absent, and she wasn't being mocked, as she usually was. She cracked an eyelid open and would've screamed on the spot if she hadn't been shocked into silence. The head of platinum hair blocked the chandelier from view, and she had nothing to focus on, nothing but those grey eyes boring into hers as he loomed over her, face scrunched in... fear? No. Contempt, probably. Her fingers began to shake, and her eyes flickered to find that his were, too, trembling around his wand. </i>
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  <i>Then, the curse. He was torturing her. It'd been bad enough that he'd been comfortable with watching it happen, but this time, he held the wand. He cast the unforgivable, and she met his gaze as he watched her squirm, throat raw from screaming. His eyes were hard, his expression unreadable, and she thought for a moment how much easier it'd be to endure the pain if it was his aunt, because she was insane. She had an excuse. He was an 18-year-old, mentally stable boy, torturing his classmate. Her tears fell, and she squeezed her eyes shut once again, because if she didn't have those pellucid crystals to distract her with borderline fascination, she had nothing. </i>
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  <i>The harsh whispering of "Well done, Draco," was the last thing she recalled, echoing around the hall, before the pain put her out cold.</i>
</p><p>Once again, Hermione found herself almost swimming in a pool of her own sweat, sheets drenched, and it wasn't until she sat up to change them and she caught sight of her reflection in her vanity’s mirror that she realised she was sobbing, and rather loudly, at that. Malfoy would surely be lying in bed, plotting some intricate method of retaliation for the morning, and she couldn't find the strength to care.</p><p>It'd never been him, before. It'd never been anybody but Bellatrix. She'd dreamt of other moments, but she'd never have a specific situation be altered, and the realisation that it could change scared her. The familiarity was what had kept her grounded. If there was no room for surprise, her fear was minimised. Now, the blonde had come and thrown a wrench in the works. </p><p>She wondered what it meant; why she'd dreamt that he'd been the one on the other end of the wand. Maybe her subconscious was warning her that her suspicions were correct. Or, maybe, in being wary of him, she was creating another spectre for herself. Something new to be afraid of.</p><p>Then, she sent her mind back to their conversation earlier, and what she swore was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, and she immediately doubted that she had anything to fear. </p><p>It took her no more than a minute and a simple charm to change her sheets, and, creaking her door open, she levitated them into the laundry basket in the bathroom, still sniffling quite noisily. She stood before the mirror, leaning against the sink, and cursed aloud when she saw the unruliness of her hair and the blotchiness of her face. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and her eyes themselves were puffy. So, all in all, just her typical midnight trip to the bathroom. </p><p>Malfoy appeared in the mirror, grasping onto the doorway as he watched her reflection with knitted eyebrows, and she froze, having ‘seen’ him no more than five minutes ago in her sleep. He was different. His eyes weren’t hard and his face wasn’t smug. She relaxed, and turned to face him properly, quickly wiping her eyes dry. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose herself so that her voice wouldn’t break. </p><p>“I, uh, I’m sorry to wake you. I should really start silencing my room, from now on.” The last part was meant to be light, but he only frowned, and she shifted on the spot, suddenly very conscious of the tank top and shorts she’d slept in. His gaze never left her face. </p><p>“I was awake already.” He clipped, and she raised an eyebrow, distinctly recalling that her alarm clock had read 2:41am, but she didn’t comment. Especially considering their last conversation, she half expected him to make a bitter remark about her tear-streaked appearance or the general childishness of her crying, but he didn’t say anything, and she didn’t know what to say, either. </p><p>They’d been stood in silence for at least a minute when he finally continued. “You should sleep. We have Transfiguration first, tomorrow. I heard through the grapevine that we have a test.” He looked her up and down one more time and opened his mouth to say something, but shut it, seemingly deciding against it. He nodded once, and retreated, and it wasn’t until she heard his door click shut and she exhaled that she realised she hadn’t been breathing.</p><p>Draco Malfoy had seen her cry twice in her life, now. It unsettled her.</p><p>She returned to her bedroom after a moment, opting to sleep for as long as she could simply because she knew the boy in the room opposite to her would surely get her back in the morning, again. </p><p>On the contrary, she woke to her alarm going off, at the right time, having no prior interruption to her rest. She rose from her bed and left the room just as he was slipping into the bathroom, finding no trap awaiting her as punishment for dragging him out of his room at 3 in the morning. He re-emerged and found her lingering by her door, and he said nothing, but there was a mild softness in his eyes as he passed her to exit the common room. She smiled to herself, and retreated to her bedroom to get dressed.</p>
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